Scenarios
by Margo Vizzini-Montoya
Summary: for my readers, one-shots inspired by your prompts. The might-have-beens of Peggy's adventures
1. The Rules of the BADC

**Scenarios**

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 **A/N:** I have been asked to write a few stories that do not quite fit into my Moments-verse, and so I will be posting them here.

This chapter was inspired by **Serenity Shadow Star** 's prompt: _Peggy's reaction to Dottie attacking Jack after escaping federal custody_. It is set roughly after episode 2.3 _Better Angels_

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own. All royalties and rights go to Markus and McFeely, Marvel, and ABC.

Enjoy.

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 **The Rules of the BADC**

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Jack blearily rubbed his eyes. It had been a long-ass day, and it looked like it was not going to end any time soon.

Dottie had escaped federal custody, and the night-shift boys were out following up on a lead while he held down the fort here.

A part of him cursed the fact (again) that he had sent Carter to help Sousa on that blasted political nightmare of a case of his, while another part of him cursed himself for wanting her here. He had been Dooley's go-to-guy. He didn't _need_ Carter to catch this super-spy broad.

 _Creeeek!_

He paused in his downward spiral on all the what-ifs of the Dooley rabbit-hole that he so frequently found himself in these days to listen to what should have been an empty office. That loud squeak was the familiar sound of the evidence vault being opened. No one should be here, and he certainly had not authorized anyone to have access to it.

It looked like his refusal to have maintenance oil the vault's hinges were paying off.

Setting down his glass of scotch and picking up his revolver, he stealthily made his way to the vault.

Sure enough the door was partially cracked open.

He carefully contemplated his next step. He could go in there alone and try to see what the trespasser's goal was, and then confront them – again alone – which seemed mighty stupid. Or he could throw in a canister of knock-out gas that the night-shift boys had not properly secured before heading out, and then lock the individual in until back-up arrived. The latter was a wiser course of action, except for the fact that this might give the perp an opportunity to tamper with evidence if that was his end game.

His moment of hesitation cost him.

For out of the darkness, the she-bitch sprang at him.

He fought back with all he had, but it was not enough.

Just as he was losing consciousness, Underwood leaned down, hissing poisonously into his ear, "Rule One of the Badass Dames Club – Never get between a lioness and her prey."

~A~

"Uh-huh. He's alright then? … Out of surgery, at least, that's good…Yeah, I'll tell her. Thanks for calling. Good hunting, Rick."

Peggy quit her pacing and looked expectantly at Daniel. When he said nothing, she prodded, "Well?"

He sighed and rubbed his face tiredly, "Rose's rumors are true. Dottie escaped custody and went back to the SSR for that pin. She injured Thompson pretty badly. Ramirez is asking that you come back to help with the man-hunt."

Peggy looked torn. Dottie or Whitney? Hunt the old nemesis or continue pursuit of the new?

He had no desire to be in her shoes right now. But thankfully, he was in his, and as Chief he now had the power to help her.

"You should go to New York."

When she looked like she would protest, he held up his hand and calmly reasoned, "At least temporarily. I can spare you a few days here. It might even work in our favor. We'd loll Frost and the Arena Club into a false sense of security."

Peggy looked as if she was considering his words, so he pressed his advantage, adding, "You can't do much to help Dr. Wilkes here. Only Stark can."

At this Peggy went at her most mulish – lips pursed and hands on hips. So obviously not the best tack to take with her.

He hastily changed course and coaxed, " _And_ if you get to her first, it will allow you to question her before Masters attempts to silence her again."

 _That,_ of course, convinced her like nothing else, if her glower-turned-predatory-grin was anything to judge by.

~A~

Peggy stared at Jack's sleeping form and thought probably what his mother had thought on many an occasion: _Why can't he be as innocent or cherub-like when he is awake as he is right now?_

Thinking about Jack's parents made her recall what she knew about his relationship with them – strained, especially when their bright-eyed ambitious son came back broken and embittered.

It made her regret a little her low-blow that she had hit him with back in L.A. She knew he wasn't a coward, just a man who was desperately trying to make his parents proud again, even while loathing his very existence.

It still made him a tosser though.

And that was the line Dottie had crossed. While Chief Thompson may be the obligatory office jackass, he was _her_ jackass. Only _she_ could lay him flat out on his back.

"Are you here to tell me 'I told you so'? Because I gotta tell you, Carter, I'm not in the mood," he croaked with his eyes still closed. Whether that was from being too tired to open them or because they were swollen shut, she could not tell.

"No, I'm here to get your account of what happened."

"Didn't you read the report? 'She came, whooped my ass and then some, and stole the pin'."

"Did she say anything to you?" she pressed, knowing that some overly conscientious nurse would be hustling her out soon.

Jack repeated Dottie's parting words with annoyance, obviously not liking being on the other side of an interrogation.

"She _really_ did not like the fact that I interrupted her play-time with you."

"Hmmm…" was all she said in reply, staring thoughtfully through his room's hallway window.

When he shifted uncomfortably, she attempted to reassure him, "You know, you don't have to be ashamed by the fact that the 'arse-whooping' was done by a girl. Dottie was trained from a very young age. No amount of time in a military boot camp or time spent in the trenches can compete with that."

Apparently, he did not find that all that comforting because he snarked back challengingly, "Well, if that's the case, then why do _you_ stand a chance?"

Peggy smirked, "Us 'badass dames' think alike, I suppose."

Jack snorted, "You know, Carter, for one thing, that does not reflect well on your character. And for another – pray tell, what are the thoughts of the psycho-bitch?"

Her smirk turned predatory yet again as she replied, "Never waste good bait. Live and twitching catches more than still and dead."

She left then, leaving Jack to think on that, and to follow the tall brunette candy striper who had passed one too many times outside his window.

~A~

Jack watched furiously as Carter swept from his room.

He was furious at his impotence. He had no energy or strength to go after her, even if he wasn't trapped in this hospital bed, attached to tubes and wires. He could not even muster up more than a hoarse whisper, as his larynx was still damaged from the bitch's choke-hold.

He was furious at Carter for her cryptic comment. He had no idea if she meant that she had been using him as bait for Underwood who might want to come back and finish the job, or if Underwood was using him as _her_ bait to lure Carter into a trap.

He didn't like either interpretation, but of the two evils, he hoped it was the former. If it was the latter, then that meant Peggy…

He couldn't bear to finish that thought.

Voice or no voice, he frantically called out: "Nurse!"

~A~

Dottie could not wipe the smug smile from her face.

Peggy had come to the hospital, just like she expected her to.

And now Peggy Carter was following her, just like she wanted her to.

Dottie was the best espionage agent out there – male or female. She had lived through hell and passed every test the Red Room Academy had thrown her way. She and everyone whose opinion mattered had thought so too – until Agent Peggy Carter had stolen Dr. Erskine away to America, stolen him before she could do that herself.

Carter had stolen him and had gotten the perfect male specimen all for herself. She had stolen him and any opportunity that she might have had to have a partner that could be her equal.

But Peggy, despite her Western privilege, could not have everything.

For this cat-and-mouse game would finally end in her favor.

She would make sure of it.

~A~

Peggy pinned Dottie's futilely struggling form to the hospital basement floor and growled, "Never go after a lioness' cubs. It's bad form, and never ends well for you."

And then she reared back and slammed her fist into Dottie's temple, knocking her unconscious. "Bitch."

Now for the fun part. Getting her to talk - helpfully.


	2. Carter's Choice

**Scenarios**

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 **A/N:** This chapter was inspired by a _Moment_ 's Guest reviewer's prompt: _Peggy needing to chose who to rescue - Jack or Daniel, and their reaction to it._ It is set in New York not long after season 1, but definitely before season 2

Enjoy.

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 **Carter's Choice**

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They had thought that they had finally cornered the infamous Dottie Underwood.

They had never been more wrong.

She had led them on a merry chase into a condemned thirteen-story hotel, all the way up to the roof.

And just as she, Jack, and Daniel had her in their sights, with seemingly nowhere to go but into their custody willingly or in a body bag, she chose a third option – over the edge.

"Holy shit! Did she just - ?" Jack colorfully exclaimed in shocked disbelief.

"Only if we could be so lucky," Daniel grunted.

While they raced to the edge where the Leviathan agent had disappeared, Peggy frantically scanned the rooftops of nearby buildings, for she could only think of one reason why she herself would jump off of a roof when cornered – and it wasn't to become a pavement pancake.

When her eyes alighted on the roof of the seven-story loft across the street, Dottie's eyes met hers, and smirking evilly, she cut her end of the zip-line that she must have flown down to safety.

That smirk was the only warning she had that her former neighbor was not only safe from them, but she was also safe from the demolition wrecking ball that was swinging their way.

Dottie had led them into a trap.

~A~

By some miracle, it did not hit the hotel dead-on. And only half of the building began to collapse – but it was the half that Daniel and Jack were on.

Over the roar of the crumbling building, Peggy could hear ordered shouts of her fellow SSR agents on the ground for the cessation of the demolition, which may have bought her time, but the ground was literally disappearing underneath Daniel's and Jack's feet.

She desperately searched around her for anything useful, and her eyes alighted on the dangling zip-line still attached to her half of the building.

She ran for it knowing that she had a choice to make.

Save Daniel who was closer, a feat that was achievable. Or attempt the improbable and try to save Jack who was vanishing from view.

The guarantee of one. The nigh impossibility of both. The slim hope of the other. The likelihood of none.

What option and its consequences could she live with?

Knowing in her heart of hearts the truth, she shouted instructions, grabbed the zip-line, and jumped – praying all the while for a miracle.

~A~

Now if she had been Steve, she would have dove and caught Chief Thompson and then snagged Daniel to the amazement of all.

But she was not.

All she could do was drag the rope with her in the hopes that it would be in reach of Jack's flailing arms below her.

When she felt the sudden jerk of his added weight to the line, she swung back towards Daniel, who was dangling from his crutch which he had snagged on a piece of rebar (having listened to her hastily shouted orders).

"Alright there?" she called out, between panting breaths.

"You're insane! You know that?" Daniel yelled back, half in awe, half in horror. Jack had far less flattering things to say, but as he was alive and only half in earnest, she let it slide without comment. Well, with minimal comment.

"You're welcome! And I am fine too. Thanks for asking!"

From that life-line, they were able to make it to the safety of the ground – battered and bruised, with pulled shoulder muscles and rope burns – but safe and sound.

~A~

Jack knew he was a bastard. His father was a bastard, so it was rather hereditary and inescapable for him to be one too.

And Jack knew he had been an ungrateful bastard today towards Carter too, snapping and barking at her as they continued in their futile hunt of Underwood.

But it truly grated on his raw nerves every time Wallace and Fisher shared their accounts of Carter's astounding stunt. It especially irritated him to see Daniel's adoring puppy expression, when he regaled the office with his version.

Now it wasn't because he was ashamed of being rescued by a girl, or even being bested by an evil one like Underwood. No, it was because…

 _"What the hell is your problem?"_

So hissed the office shrew and the thorn in his side, Peggy Carter.

"What is your problem, _sir_ ," he corrected mockingly.

He had to give her credit though. She had waited until most of the office cleared out before confronting him, and she had even quietly shut his door before breaking into his reverie.

"What the hell is your problem, _sir_?" she snapped back, adding indignantly, "I know Dottie got away again, but that is not my fault. And I am not your whipping boy."

"You're right," he growled back in frustration. "You're not a whipping boy – or rather girl. And it was my fault. I should have ordered the building surrounded instead of charging in after her. A lot of things could have gone differently today."

"Christ, is that what today has been about? Self-recriminations? Because I – "

"No," he snapped curtly, and even though he knew he was falling for the classic blunder of being goaded into confession, he did so anyways, wanting to get it off his chest.

"No, this is about the fact that I _was there_ today, and I know darn well that you had a choice and you should have chosen Sousa, not the lost cause."

They stared at each other for several long moments after that declaration. The silence growing heavy with all the things not said, with the things that neither one of them were ready to say.

And then their connection was broken. Her expression softened, and she murmured, "You're not a lost cause."

Before he could formulate a satisfactory reply, her mouth twisted into a sardonic, mischievous grin, as she qualified, "A wanker maybe, but not a lost cause."

He found his own mouth twisting up into a matching grin, as he rebuked mildly, "A 'wanker, sir', Agent Carter."

She nodded and smiled, even while she gave him an almost saucy salute as she exited his office.

"Aye, aye, _sir._ "

As he watched her gather up her belongings and say good night to Sousa, he wondered at the fact that he had been all bent out of shape for being rescued by Carter, but was now almost comforted at the fact that he had just been insulted by the chit.

He was one effed-up bastard. And he had no idea what to do about it.

~A~

Daniel watched as Peggy left Jack's office with a soft smile on her face, and his heart sank.

He knew the truth too.

It was time for him to seriously consider that L.A. offer.

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 **A/N:** Thoughts? Critiques? Prompts of your own? All are appreciated and welcome : )


	3. Ruskie Business

**Scenarios**

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 **Dedication:** For all my readers who have wanted and asked for more Cartson undercover stories, and for all those who are like me and love the Veronica Mars-Logan Echolls dynamic that could be Cartson, I give you...

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 **Ruskie Business**

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"Marge, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He said into the phone, not sounding all that happy to be hearing from her.

"A favor. You do remember asking me for one, right?" Somehow the tinny quality of the phone made the sharpness of her British tongue that much more cutting.

He sat up straighter in his hotel desk chair and eagerly asked, "You found my missing Russian witness?"

There was a static-filled pause, and then she asked bemusedly, "How many missing witnesses _do_ you have, Jack?"

Not really in the mood anymore for their usual song and dance, he growled into the receiver, "Carter…"

"Yes, I found her, and she's here in L.A., just like you thought, but at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel."

"Shit."

"What? I don't think that one's Mafia owned. She should be safe enough," Carter graciously tried to reassure.

"No, not that. If she can afford that kind of digs, that means Katya has access to her funds."

"Which also means she can hole up in the penthouse and wait out any kind of stakeout siege we put into place for her," Carter swiftly connected the dots, because that's the kind of agent she is.

"And I would bankrupt both branches' budgets authorizing the amount of overtime that would take," he glumly noted.

There was another static-filled pause, and then, "I assume since you are in town, you would like to be part of the retrieval?"

"Yes."

"Give me an hour, and then meet me in the lobby."

Before he could question if or how she even knew that he was done with all of his meetings with the brass or even protest, there was a decided click of their call being disconnected.

He stared exasperatedly at the phone and wondered if Sousa had yet come to regret accepting her permanent transfer to L.A.

Then again, he had to admit that although he had far fewer headaches now that she was officially one-hundred percent Sousa's problem, he did miss her efficiency.

~A~

 _An hour and ten minutes later…_

"Efficient? Yes. Punctual? No," Jack muttered irritably.

He had been impatiently pacing the lobby for the past five minutes, only somewhat patiently the previous five – and still no sign of her.

Just as he turned around though, Carter rushed up to him, and in loud girlish American voice, she gushed apologetically, "I'm _so_ sorry that I'm late, honey-bunch!"

If the American accent, the girly gushing, or the un-sarcastic endearment did not catch him off-guard, the firmly planted smacker of a kiss on his cheek certainly did.

Before she drew back, she whispered softly into his ear, "This guy is a bit of a stickler for the rules. He assured me over the phone that nothing short of a warrant would let us have access to his client list. But don't worry. I have a plan."

As she commandeered his arm and marched him over to the reception counter, he finally understood why Carter excelled at espionage work and why she and Howard Stark got along so famously – if either one of them could help it, they only had a passing acquaintance with rules, regulations, or decorum.

In a pompous British accent (figures), the clerk snootily eyed their government salary-afforded duds and asked insincerely, "May I help you?"

"You may," Carter replied briskly, somehow her American accent getting thicker. "My fiancé and I are looking for the _perfect_ honeymoon suite."

"Felicitations," he congratulated them, his smile matching his words, but his eyes saying ' _fuck off and I hope you dirty up a set of some other hotel's sheets on your night of consummated bliss_ '. Or something equally snobbish.

Being the barely consummate professional that he was, he brought out a portfolio of pictures of room suites, stating condescendingly, "These are our more reasonably priced packages. The rooms run at $3.50 to $4.50 a night, depending on if you want a courtyard or poolside view. Weekends are, of course, never booked for one night only. No exceptions."

Judging by the bruising on his arm that she was still holding, if Peggy was actually in the market for a honeymoon suite, this arse-wipe would not be able to look down his nose at anyone again due to its Carter-created crookedness.

But as that was not her endgame, she held it together and declared dismissively, "Of course, we understand," and then with much more enthusiasm, she whipped out a portfolio of her own from her bag and gushed, "But I had something a little more like _this_ in mind."

Jack didn't know which was more garish – the be-ribboned and be-flowered 'My Dream Wedding' album with its wedding magazine clippings or the enormous sparkling rock that glittered in the light as she flicked through the pages of the album. He could almost forgive her for being late, if this is what she had been working on.

Deciding to quit being a spectator, he removed his hand from her grasp in order to tug her into his side and declare concernedly, "Wow, sugar-lips, you've certainly been busy. I hope you're not burning the candle at both ends and wearing yourself out."

"Oh, don't you worry, sweetie. I'll _always_ have enough energy for you," she promised breathily as she reached up and pecked him on the tip of his nose, giggling.

He gave her side a brief but overly affectionate squeeze, and then leered at the clerk, "Ain't she a keeper?"

"Yes, I imagine she is," the clerk declared this time sincerely, but his eyes were on the ring and not Carter. "Er, these are our deluxe suites, which may be more to your lady's liking."

Carter flipped through the second portfolio that the clerk produced, oohing and ahhing to some and sniffing dismissively at others. Finally, she settled on the penthouse suite, declaring, "Ooh, baby, do you think we can afford this one?"

At Jack's questioning eyebrow, the clerk babbled eagerly, "Ah, yes, our penthouse suite. It's $12 a night, has a hot tub, unobstructed view of the city's glittering skyline, and, er, _private_ elevator access."

Wow. The images that brought to mind were, er, _trouser-tightening_ , to say the least.

Over Peggy's tittering giggles, Jack declared with yet another leer, "Sold."

Before the clerk could begin asking them for details like names or dates, Carter began to pet his arm and coo, "Let's go take a looksee, honey-bear."

"I do apologize, but it is currently in use," the man stated obsequiously, still eager to please, but still a stickler.

"Like ' _in use'_ in use? Because if no one is actually in there, we _could_ take a quick peek…" Peggy begged charmingly, her head tilted to the side.

If this was Sousa, they would be up there as fast as he could hobble. Hell, if this was him, he would be struggling to resist that head tilt and pouty lips himself. But no, this was Mr. Stick-Up-His-Arse.

"Er, I'm sorry, but our guest has insisted on her privacy."

At the female pronoun, Jack gave Carter's side an involuntarily squeeze. This had to be Katya, she was here, and maybe his carefully crafted case wasn't doomed.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he asked with forced bored impatience, "Couldn't we just call up to the room?"

"Oh no, not possible _at all_ , but I can promise you that you will have the same level of privacy, should you decide to avail yourselves of our services on your happy night."

Jack glanced down to Carter, fervently hoping that she had another trick up her sleeve, but all she did was sigh resignedly, "Well, thank you for your time."

She then collected her wedding portfolio and gently led him away from the counter towards the plush lobby chairs, the ones blocked from the receptionist's view by palm fronds.

Shoving his hands dejectedly into his pockets, he bitterly asked, "So that's it?"

" _No_ , that's not it," she retorted exasperatedly, and then began to order him about in her native British accent. "You stay here and watch the front exits. I am going to go try my hand at the maintenance guys."

He didn't bother reminding her that _he_ was the Chief and not she. He simply sat down and picked up the latest copy of the _L.A. Times_ , from which he could peek over the top and stakeout the front and side doors and the elevators.

It also afforded him the excellent view of Carter's swaying hips and gorgeous gams, as she went on the hunt.

Despite the fact that he wished her success, he felt sorry for those poor suckers. They wouldn't know what, or more accurately, _who_ was going to hit them – whether it was her sultry begging eyes or her actual fists, it would still be the force of nature that was his Marge.

 _He_ certainly hadn't been prepared all those months ago.

~A~

And twenty minutes later as he watched Peggy quick-march the struggling and…dripping … Katya out the elevator doors towards him, it was clear that his missing Russian witness hadn't been prepared for Agent Peggy Carter either.

"You always get your man – or woman – don't you, Carter?"

"I do," she smirked triumphantly. "By hell or high water."

He eyed the half drowned-kitten-looking woman in front of him, and harrumphed, "Never were truer words spoken."

She rolled her eyes, "A simple thank you would do, you know."

Jack took his reluctantly restrained star witness in hand and began to lead her out of the lobby. Over his shoulder though, he taunted, "Oh, I do thank you, _sugar-lips_. I really do."

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 **Disclaimer:** I also do not own any part of the _Veronica Mars_ franchise. This scene was based off of Season 1 Episode 15 'Ruskie Business.' All royalties and rights go to Rob Thomas, his production company, Silver Picture Television, Stu Segall Productions, Warner Bros, and CBS.

Anywho, thoughts?


	4. Dottie-in-a-Box

**Scenarios**

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 **A/N:** This chapter was brought to you by _Serenity Shadowstar_ ,who requested a sequel to 'the Rules of the BADC'

Enjoy.

* * *

 **Dottie-in-a-Box**

* * *

It had been days.

He hadn't heard from or seen Carter in over 48 hours. That was enough time for him to file a missing persons report.

He wouldn't do that of course. He wouldn't let it be known that on top of not being able to control his female agent, that he had let her go and get herself kidnapped or worse.

He _did_ of course call Daniel to see if she had checked in with him. He had even called Stark's gopher-boy. But the problem with that is that even if Carter had called to check in with them, they wouldn't tell him. So should he worry that they hadn't heard anything, or should he assume that they were covering for her? He didn't know.

And this is just one of the many reasons why agents shouldn't go rogue.

In the future, he and Carter were going to have a code word system so that she could check in with him, but still maintain that autonomy that she apparently was going to continue to insist upon.

Or better yet, he would permanently reassign her to Sousa to be his problem.

He refused to believe or even think of any future in which Underwood bests Peggy. If he did, then these quacks of nurses and doctors would follow through on their threats to sedate him, and then he would be of no use to Peggy if she did bother to call.

Yep, it was better for all to entertain his fury by imagining the Peggy-induced ulcers, heart burns, and gray hairs that Sousa would have to deal with once the transfer was complete.

That and count on Ramirez the Hound to track her down.

~A~

 _The basement of one of Stark's residences,_

 _48 hours earlier…_

"I'm disappointed in you, Peggy."

Those were the first words out of the Russian spy's mouth as soon as her gag was removed. As this seemed to be a frequent refrain of Dottie's, she was not all that surprised.

And although she didn't really want to know, but for the purposes of keeping her talking, she blandly prompted, "Oh? And what expectation of yours did I fail to meet?"

Dottie cocked her head to the side and mused with faux thoughtfulness, "Hmmm…where to start?" After dramatic pause, while she 'searched' for answers, her blue eyes widened with exaggerated excitement, as she exclaimed, "I know! How about your choice in men?"

Peggy stared blankly at the woman who was bound in a chair and strapped at the ankles, wrists, thighs, stomach, and shoulders. She resisted the urge to comment on how disappointed she was with her for starting off with personal attacks. But it was best not to appear defensive, or the former-blond would think she had struck a nerve.

"I would have thought after your disastrous choice in that – oh, what is that word you English use? – oh, yes, in that _toff_ that you once called fiancé, you would have learned from your mistake." Shaking her head sadly, she made a regretful tsking sound and sighed, "But you did not."

She attributed all those months playing cards against Howard and the Howling Commandoes for her success at not revealing how disturbed she was by Dottie's knowing about Frederick. All she did was evenly ask with extreme disinterest, "I did not?"

Dottie's eyes darkened to black slits as she angrily spat, "No, you did not!"

The 'psycho-bitch' sat there and huffed indignantly at her for a few moments, before eventually cracking her neck and relaxing. Peggy was not sure if the Russian spy was truly that mentally unstable, or just hamming it up for effect.

In calmer but still highly contemptuous tones, Dottie continued her vitriolic diatribe, "You aligned yourself with that _gimp_ , who is only going to hold you back. If that three-legged _puppy_ has his way, he will saddle you with children, and both he and they will hobble you down like balls and chains. You'll never reach your _potential_."

More than a bit taken aback at how strongly her former neighbor felt about this, she asked without thinking, "And what is wrong with Dr. Wilkes?"

"Doctor who now?"

Recalling that Dottie had been in custody before Wilkes became involved in her case, she waved her hand dismissively, asserting, "Never mind" but wishing that she had instead asked what 'potential' Dottie thought she had. That could have at least given her a clue as to what her agenda was.

But she missed her window of opportunity, as Dottie was now smirking at her.

With saccharine sweetness, she observed, "Well, I did not know you had another beau, Peggy dear, but if he came to mind, while I rambled on, then he must be another stray that you have collected. And speaking of curs... that blond one of yours must go."

It took her a moment to figure out who Dottie could possibly be referring to with such distaste, and even then she was not sure. "Chief Thompson?"

Dottie shrugged one shoulder, "You say tomato. I say ambitious street rat." And then leaning forward as much as the shoulder straps would allow, she warned with a disgusted sneer, "You protect him like he is one of your 'cubs', but he will stab you in the back, if the price is right."

She must have seen something in Peggy's face at those words, because she challenged triumphantly, "You know I am right, don't you?"

Deciding that this tangent had gone on far enough, Peggy attempted to redirect her detainee with a disinterested, "Hmmm, well, as _fascinating_ as your critique on my social life has been – "

Dottie was not to be dissuaded though.

"Oh, I am not done yet," she protested, and then with unholy glee, she declared like a showman, "The pièce _de résistance_ is of course – the man in red-white-and-blue, himself, the _hero_ to your star-crossed heroine, the match made in your precious SSR's laboratory – Steve Rogers. Even he failed you. He _gave up_ on you."

If she didn't need the crazy-bint to talk, she would wipe that smirk and possibly her jaw clear off her face. But she needed information. _And_ she was not going to give Dottie Underwood the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her.

"You have an unhealthy obsession with me," she observed coolly, and then arching an eyebrow at her, she challenged, "Do you think you could do better?"

Like a kid on Christmas morning, Dottie beamed at her as she declared, "Why, Peggy, I thought you would never ask!"

No, that was too innocent of a comparison. The look she gave Peggy was like that of a horny teenage boy being given permission to go beyond first base with his girl.

Upon seeing it, Peggy fervently thanked her lucky stars or whatever deity was looking out for her. If this interrogation had been done at the SSR, and anyone had been watching, especially Jack, she would have never lived it down.

"Come now, Dottie, I am no Howard Stark that a pretty face can distract me," she chided gently, and then she firmly instructed, "Tell me about the Arena Club pin."

Dottie parried her attack by batting her eyes coquettishly and archly asking, "You think, I'm pretty?"

Peggy counter-parried by glaring at her.

Dottie riposted with a pout, "What no foreplay?"

And so it went.

~A~

 _RRIIINNNGGG!_

Jack looked at the phone with dread. Someone was calling his hotel room in the middle of the night, on the 66th hour that Carter had been missing. He found that to be startlingly ominous.

"Hello?"

"Chief, it's Ramirez. I found her."

As the man's voice was filled with excitement, Jack could only assume that he found her alive and kicking.

"Is she there with you?"

"Yes, and she's here with Underwood. She's had her in…" As the agent's voice began to drift off hesitantly, he knew Peggy was attempting to control the situation, so he firmly ordered, "Put her on the phone."

"Relax, Jack. I am fine. A little perturbed that you sicced Ramirez on me though," she greeted him. Although she knew that she was attempting to be reassuring with her usual level of insolence, he could tell that she was beyond exhausted.

For this reason, he went easier on her then he intended to (that and it was extremely difficult to be effectively wrathful while hissing quietly into a hospital phone).

"Due to Ramirez's… _heritage_ , I could trust that he wasn't one of Masters'. The old man likes to groom All-American boys," he explained, a bit self-deprecatingly. The irony had not escaped him.

His comment was met with momentary silence, and then Carter stated slowly, "Well, that was very…thoughtful of you, Jack." When he didn't say anything (he was really enjoying the fact that for once, he caught Carter by surprise), she continued, "You can call Masters now though and let him attempt to hold onto Madame Houdini here again."

That caught him by surprise. Peggy willingly giving up her prize? "Are you _sure_ you are alright?" he asked concernedly.

"Not really, no, now that you mention it. After going several rounds with that _mental_ , I think I am going to need to extend my vacation," she admitted with a weary sigh, which was believable. He could imagine after spending days with the psycho-wannabe Peggy-bitch that she would be in need of some R&R.

What wasn't entirely convincing was her next bit.

"...Back in L.A. to rest and recoup, you know."

Jack did know, and he didn't imagine that there was going to be much relaxing by Stark's poolside, sipping martinis. But he decided in that moment that the best thing for his career and his sanity when it came to Peggy Carter was to have plausible deniability.

"Let Ramirez bring her in with you."

"Okay," was all she said in reply. She didn't fill him in on what she found out, and he didn't ask.

He knew then that for once they were in agreement with each other. Whatever she was working on was on a need to know basis, and he didn't need to know.


	5. The Nine Lives of Peggy

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter was also inspired by **Serenity Shadowstar** 's prompts: _Jack's_ _reaction to Daniel's phone calls about Peggy's near death experiences_.

Enjoy.

* * *

 **The Nine Lives of Pe ggy**

* * *

"Chief Thompson, Chief Sousa is on line 3 for you."

At the operator's words, Jack found himself experiencing the worst kind of déjà vu.

Heart palpitations. Sweaty palms. Shaky breaths. Churning, roiling stomach. The urge to down a shot or two of scotch, chug a bottle of that revolting pink anti-acid stuff, and hurl all at the same time.

All of which were precursors for ...

~A~

 _"Chief Thompson, Chief Sousa is on the line for you…"_

 _"Jack, this case against Isodyne is bigger than we thought. Some goons chased and shot at Peggy all over town, tracking her back to the laboratory and then it exploded. I'm gon– "_

 _"Wait! What? Carter was shot at_ **and** _there was an_ **explosion** _?!"_ he interrupted with a shout that could probably be heard all the way down in the bowels of the SSR labs.

He stared out into the bullpen at her ridiculously organized desk, and could not for the life of him fathom it being permanently empty – or worse filled with some newb who…

Well, it was just unthinkable.

 _"She's fine. Banged up and bruised. But relatively fine,"_ Sousa belatedly reassured.

 _"Well, next time,"_ he snapped into the receiver, _"why don't you_ **start** _with that?"_

~A~

Of course, there was indeed a next time…

 _"Chief Thompson, Chief Sousa is on the line for you…"_

 _"Jack, she's fine."_

At those words, Jack put down the coffee mug he was holding, mostly because his hands started shaking so badly, and tried not to envision the thousand and one ways Peggy could _not_ be fine.

 _"… But the next time you see her, she might have some bruising around her neck."_

After he cleared his throat and started breathing normally again, he managed to growl out, _"Why?"_

" _Well, someone put a hit out on her and a hired thug attacked her at Stark's last night,"_ he warily explained.

This was getting ridiculous. _"Put her on a goddamn plane, Sousa,"_ he ordered impatiently.

 _"You know Peggy. Nothing short of kidnapping her will get her to go back to New York before she's good and ready, and even then, I wouldn't count on it."_

Sousa said this with an exasperated sigh, but Jack could detect a hint of affection that he had no patience for.

 _"Well, she ain't doin' it on the government's dime."_

He had said this with an air of finality, thinking that was to be the end of Sousa's excuses for Carter's reckless behavior, but of course…

 _"That's why she couriered her vacation request and sent a copy to her Union rep, I believe."_

Peggy Carter was one step ahead of him. That woman hadn't taken a vacation for a day in her life. The SSR's gung-ho liberal union representative would not let him deny it, since she was so long overdue.

His chest began to tighten in anticipation of how many more calls such as these that he would have to endure.

 _"Shit. That woman is going to be the death of me."_

~A~

And again…

 _"Chief Thompson, Chief Sousa is on the line for you…"_

 _"Jack, when Peggy eventually returns from vacation, she may need to go on light duty,"_ Sousa cautioned.

Feeling a headache coming on, he sighed, _"Do I wanna know?"_

 _"Not really, no. The official story is that she fell from rigging at one of the half-constructed sets of Stark's films and was – er, impaled."_

 _"Impaled?! And she's not in the hospital?"_

He couldn't believe his ears. He couldn't.

He could feel his headache get worse, as the blood began to pound at his temples and as bile began to rise up in his throat at the idea of Peggy being a bloody shish-kebab.

 _"Jack, you know – "_

 _"Sousa, if you so much as say 'I know Peggy', I will come out there and either choke you with that phone cord or skewer you with your crutch, if not both,"_ he threatened with deadly seriousness.

Sousa nervously cleared his throat and then with unconvincing optimism attempted to pacify him with, _"She's like a cat, Jack. She seems to always land on her feet."_

 _"Cats have nine lives, Daniel. How many more of them does she have left?"_

~A~

Upon hearing the operator chirp:

 _"Chief Thompson, Chief Sousa is on line 3 for you…"_

Was it any wonder that he began to feel like he was back on the islands again? Waiting to find out another of his comrades was dead?

With a heavy resigned sigh, he instructed, "Put him through, please."

"Jack – "

The warning tone in Daniel's voice told Jack everything he needed to know. This was about Peggy, and even though the Isodyne case had been wrapped up (finally) to her satisfaction, something was wrong. And he was not as resigned as he thought.

"I swear to God, Sousa, if you are calling to tell me that she's not on her way here and has gotten so much as a broken nail, I will finish what Vega and Blackwell started."

"Jesus, Jack!" Daniel exclaimed in shock at his vehemence. "I was just calling to give you a heads up that she grabbed an earlier flight. _And_ to my knowledge," his western counterpart asserted defensively, "she shouldn't have any more bruises or war wounds than when you last saw her. But if she does, it was acquired in trouble en route – which I am not expecting, but you know P– "

 _Knock. Knock._

Jack glanced up to see the devil herself leaning wearily against his office doorframe.

Never taking his eyes off of her, he said to Sousa, "Yeah, I do know. Package has arrived. Thanks, Sousa."

 _Click._

After setting the receiver down, he gave his most infuriating agent a once over.

'Vacation' really didn't suit her. She was bleary-eyed and lacking the usual pep in her step. There was none of that brisk go-getting energy that put over half his agents to shame, as she leaned against his door for support. Not to mention she was still favoring her wounded side.

She didn't even sass him for his perusal of her person – not to say that she didn't stare challengingly back at him – but he didn't get any lip from her. Perhaps, for once, she recognized that the ball ought to be in his court.

He was tempted out of spite to gruffly demand, _'Carter, where the devil is my coffee?'_

He didn't however. Mostly because he didn't want those to be his very last words. She may be weary and wounded, but she was still Peggy Carter.

Instead, he scowled at her and declared, "Just so you know, I will not be authorizing any more vacation, sick, or personal days for you in the near future. And certainly not any extended field trips west of the Mississippi."

Peggy smiled wanly but her eyes lit up with amusement, as she declared softly:

"I missed you too, Jack."

* * *

 **A/N:** Yeah, aside from wishing that this is how the series would have ended, I just couldn't write another Jack got shot story.

If you wanna know how I imagine Peggy reacting to Jack getting shot, (inserting shameless plug here) check out 'Jack Injured' and 'Jack's Smirking Revenge'.

Anywho, thoughts?


	6. Mr and Mrs 'Jones'

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter was brought to you by _Shepweir always_ , who requested another undercover operation as a married couple and 'some real physical affection' between Peggy and Jack

Enjoy.

* * *

 **Mr. and Mrs. ... 'Jones'**

* * *

 _Winter Valley Ski Resort, New Jersey, early 1950s_

"Mrs… _Jones_ , you worrying about your young protégé any more or less is not going to make or break her first foray into the big bad wide world," Jack teased as he tapped the lip she had been nervously nibbling on and smoothed it out with his finger.

She nipped at his finger and scowled at him teasingly, "When did you get so wise, Mr. Jones?"

"About a few dozen gray hairs in and after the second or third ulcer," he quipped back. "Now, budge over woman."

She scooted over on the settee to make room for him, and then nestled into his side before teasing, "Hmmm… and when you gained this new found wisdom, how did you resolve to deal with the root of your premature aging and gastrointestinal problems?"

Jack wrapped his arm around her so that her head could rest in the crook of his shoulder, and then with his other hand he interlaced their fingers together over her fake padded baby-bump, as he recited with some facetious self-derision, "I first thought to woo the dame, marry her, and then bench her due to her being a veritable waddling factory of mini-me's."

"First thought, huh?" Peggy snorted with amusement, "And what persuaded you to _discard_ such a scheme?"

Shrugging with his one free shoulder, he sighed with exaggerated resignation, "The realization that she wouldn't be benched for long and then it would be me at home surrounded by a hungry, scheming army of mini-her's while she went off on her own adventures."

Peggy could feel a smirk slowly spreading across her face at this, but before she could comment, he continued with an air of self-satisfaction, "So instead I resolved to convince Stark to create his own agency in which she can play queen bee of."

"Oh, you did, did you?" She rolled her eyes at his audacity to claim that S.H.I.E.L.D. was his brain-child. She also pinched his side to remind him to keep his voice down and not mention anything that might give them away to possible eavesdroppers.

"I did. Queens don't do a whole lot of field work was my reasoning at the time," he declared a lot more quietly.

"And how did that work out for you?" She inquired. This time she was biting her lip to keep from laughing full on in his face and in the middle of the ski lodge lobby. The idea was to blend in with the resort crowd, not attract attention to themselves.

"Well, even though our date night is being primarily devoted to a mission, wife of mine, you did agree to let me tag-a-long and leave the monsters we call children in Eddie's and Anna's capable hands, _and_ you agreed to only be a lookout as your rookie does most of the heavy-lifting. So all in all, I call that progress," he reasoned, looking far too pleased with himself.

He was right of course. Not that she was going to tell him that. Nor was she going to tell him that his being there was helping her maintain her back-up supervisory role and not interfere, as her probationary agent completed her first honey-trap sting operation. He was proving to be a good distraction. Perhaps, too good of a distraction, as heat began to coil in her belly and tingle from where his fingers trailed a lazy pattern along her arm.

"Speaking of, Mr. Jones, quit distracting me with your adorable smugness," she huffed in mock irritation. Her eyes darted over to the bar that was on the other side of the lobby to see that her agent was still reeling in her mark.

Jack chuckled lowly, sending delightful shivers throughout her body, and then he tauntingly cajoled, "Like baby Michael, I respond best to bribery, sweetheart."

Peggy smirked, and then twisted slightly so that she could whisper huskily into his ear.

Upon hearing her salacious incentive, Jack tinged a delectable shade of pink, even as he reached over to pick up the baby name book he was supposed to be reading to her while she knit.

He did such a good job that after the op was successfully completed, she took him up to the room that she had booked for them and then did that thing that he especially liked in addition to what she had promised.

Much to his satisfaction (and hers).

* * *

 **A/N:** What? A married couple undercover as a married couple talking about their actual married couple lives? : D

Thoughts?


	7. Revenge of the Moniker

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter was brought to you by _LoverShadowGirl's_ prompt: _Peggy getting away with revenge for the "sugar-lips" bit_ in 'Ruskie Business', possibly in front of Howard, Daniel, or Angie

Anywho, enjoy.

* * *

 **Reven** **g e of the Moniker**

* * *

 _"So you're telling me that because this what's-it ending in –ium is suddenly lacking on the market, a weapon of mass destruction is being built somewhere?"_

Howard rolled his eyes as if he could not believe the man whose voice was on the other end of the phone doubted his assessment. "Yes, just as I got done telling Chief Danny here not a half hour ago, it's a rare substance and its sudden absence on the market can only mean that someone is stockpiling up, and someone would only need to do that if they were planning on making something with a whole lotta bang."

There was a pause at the other end of the line, as the New York Chief absorbed this, and then, _"Carter, you still got those French Resistance arms-dealers and smuggler contacts?"_

Peggy leaned closer so that Howard's 'speaker' phone could pick up her answer. "Yes."

 _"Alright then, get in touch with them and see what they might have heard."_

"Sure thing, sugar bun."

Her ready acceptance and/or casually stated endearment was met with dead silence, during which Howard looked at her with eyebrows raised in pointed curiosity. It was finally interrupted by Jack's hesitant yet dry voice, drawling:

 _"Thanks, Carter."_

The teleconference continued a few more minutes before they hung up. After which, Howard observed, "I don't know what lesson you are trying to teach that Neanderthal, but just be prepared for it to backfire."

Peggy just smirked at him and simply said, "Noted," as she began dialing the number for her contact to 'The Frog'.

~A~

"My man Samberly!" Jack greeted in shock, as the scientist walked into the SSR L.A. conference room.

"Chief Thompson," Dr. Samberly politely greeted with a nod, and then not so politely hissed to Daniel, "Chief, what's he doing here? You'd think New York didn't have nothing to do he's over here so much."

Jack paused with his fiddling of the film projector to snap coldly, "The real question is – why is the egghead here at a senior level meeting of an inter-branch _operation_."

"He's the senior scientist, Jack," Daniel patiently explained.

Jack looked at Daniel as if he was talking about the price of tea in China, and then to her he said, "Marge, can you flip off the lights for me so we can get this picture show started?"

"Yes," she agreed with alacrity, and then because she could not resist, she added sweetly, "Since you asked so nicely, _cherie_."

And just before Jack turned on the projector, Chief Sousa could be heard choking on his coffee.

And just before the room descended into semi-darkness, everyone could see Jack glaring at her.

~A~

"Angie! What are you doing here?" Peggy exclaimed, upon finding her friend in the 'reception' area of the Auerbach Theatrical Agency.

Angie, who was sitting on the corner of Rose's desk, blithely answered, "Oh, I got done with my audition and thought I would kill time until you got off your shift by helping Rose here give constructive criticism to the poor wandering hopefuls."

"Oh – er – how kind of you…"

While she was in the middle of mentally cursing her luck that Angie and Rose had finally met, Jack came barging out of the secret entrance.

"Quit your dawdling, sweetheart. We got – "

"That _errand_ to run," she hastily interrupted him. "Yes, I know, Buttercup."

At her words and tone, he paused mid-step to nod politely at their rapt audience, before barking, "Yes, that _urgent_ errand. Let's go!"

Peggy shot them an apologetic half-smile, which gave her ample opportunity to see the twin barely-concealed looks of glee on the pair's faces, before she charged after him.

Their 'errand' was to coax a warrant out of a judge – not for whatever was on their gossip-happy minds.

~A~

"Peggy, you have got to stop with the inappropriate nicknames at the office," Jack declared as he walked her up to the side door of Howard's L.A. residence.

She snorted, "One, how are they any different than your 'sweethearts'?"

"How about the fact that you don't get official telegrams addressed to you as 'Chief Snookums'?" he huffed in annoyance.

Trying not to snicker, she fired back, "Oh? And I suppose there has never been any correlation to the rise in 'cupcakes' and 'doll-faces' I receive after you address me as anything less than professional?"

Jack rocked back on his heels as he considered this, before admitting with a sigh, "Okay, point to you," but then after a slight nod to the window that had curtains which poorly concealed their eavesdroppers, he dramatically bemoaned, "It's just that if you keep going on like that people are going to find out _about us_."

Playing her part, she protested, "That 'no fraternization' rule is for inner-office colleagues and superiors and their subordinates, neither of which applies as you are no longer my direct superior since I transferred to L.A."

With an adorably exaggerated pout, Jack whined, "And that loophole cost us _3,000_ miles."

Standing on her tippy-toes, she put a hand to his chest and leaned in as she coyly observed, "But you're here now." As she leaned up to 'peck' him on the cheek, she whispered huskily into his ear, "And two, would it be so bad if you were my sweetheart?"

Jack sputtered in shock and pulled back, hissing incredulously, "Are you _screwing_ with me?"

Peggy resisted the urge to retort something along the lines of _'in your dreams'_ or _'you wish'_ , and instead only smiled enigmatically at him before slipping from his grasp and unlocking the door.

But just before she shut the door behind her, she admitted quietly (and for his ears only), "A little. Happy April Fool's, Jack."

Through the door, she could hear him shout, "Marge, you're a bloody minx!"

"Love you too, Jackie-dear!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the door to the kitchen swing slightly on its hinges as the Jarvises attempted (again unsuccessfully) to hide from view.

She would bet everything she had that within the hour those two would be on the phone with their fellow 'Team Cartson' cohorts with this latest chapter in their saga.

Those poor suckers, they had no idea how much she enjoyed keeping everyone on their toes, especially Jack.


	8. Comfort

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter was brought to you by a request from a friend of mine who not only loves _Agent Carter_ but is also a fellow _Casino Royale_ fan.

Enjoy.

* * *

 **Comfort**

* * *

 _Riiinngg! Riinn-!_

Jack rolled over and groggily answered the phone mid-second ring, "Hello?"

 _"She needs you."_

Upon hearing those words, a ball of ice formed in his gut and began to spread. It didn't slow him down though as he sprang from the bed, barking, "Where is she and what happened, Sousa?"

~A~

Jack showed up at the hotel in record time, letting himself into Room 323 with the key that Daniel had slipped to him in the lobby.

"Peggy?" he called out cautiously.

He didn't hear a response, but he did hear water running in the bathroom, so he headed there.

As soon as he saw her, he knew that the yelling-at-her-to-snap-out-of-it approach wouldn't work. That was best suited for when she was War-Path Peggy, intent on avenging the death of her colleague.

When Daniel had told him that Williams had been made and then subsequently brutally murdered and that she was the one who found his body, that is the Peggy that he had been expecting to find tonight.

He had not been expecting who was in front of him.

His Marge was sitting in the shower, fully-clothed, with her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth, and staring blankly at the tile floor in front of her, uncaring of the damage the hot water was doing to her hair, make-up, and evening gown. The steam and shower spray were doing a poor job of hiding her tears which were coursing silently, and darkly thanks to her mascara, down her face.

"I brought chocolate. It's not wine, but preggers can't be choosers," he teased quietly.

When he got no response, he realized that the humorous approach was out as well.

So he kicked off his shoes, and stepped into the shower - dress shirt, trousers, suspenders, and all.

She stopped her rocking just enough to scoot over so that he could sit next to her, which he slowly did, like he would with a wounded animal.

With equal slowness, he gently wrapped his arms around her. When she didn't resist, he tightened his hold and tucked her head into his shoulder.

"I'm here, sweetheart."

~A~

 _'Yet another one of your S.H.I.E.L.D. agents is dead and only half of the responsible party has been caught, but instead of questioning him or trying to follow up on leads for the other half, you're in here crying, Peggy.'_

 _'Stupid hormones.'_

 _'What if your stupid hormones have clouded your thinking and that is what got Williams killed?'_

 _'How could you have thought that you could do both? You can't keep an adult rookie alive, so how can you keep a baby alive?'_

 _'How can you be thinking of this when some poor woman's son is dead and …?'_

When Jack opened her shower door, she didn't jump and she barely moved. She knew it was him. If it had been an enemy agent, they would have shot her from the doorway if they dared.

And her agents knew what was good for them. Staying away from their hormonal and emotionally distraught pregnant bitch of a boss who excelled at violence was essential to survival tonight as dodging bullets.

When he settled in and wrapped his arms around her to comfort her, she didn't pull away and insist she could be strong enough. She just burrowed in, letting his arms ground her when everything else seemed as topsy-turvy as a Wonderland rabbit hole.

Later, when she got her second wind, both she and Jack would make those murderous bastards regret her every single tear that she had ever shed this dark and bloody night.

But for right now, when the world was at its darkest, her husband was her light.


	9. Paradigm Shift

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter originated from an opening paragraph of a never completed drabble piece of _HoRnIe DeMoN_ 's, which was generously gifted to me. And while my Muse went wild as it is wont to do, I included all the original lines, which are italicized throughout.

This is a tale on Jack's perspective of Peggy and his views on women, and how she changes them.

Enjoy.

* * *

 **Paradi gm Shift**

* * *

 _To Jack Thompson, Peggy Carter was a riddle wrapped in an enigma enfolded in a mystery._

Even on the first day of her transfer back to the S.S.R. New York branch office after the war, she had baffled him. She was not at all what he had expected.

He had expected a grieving girlfriend, (the late Captain America's girlfriend to be precise), who was to be handled with care. He had expected a moderately competent woman who was capable of handling sensitive information and who would file, field phone calls, and fetch coffee. She had been able to stay in Colonel Phillips' good graces, so she would not just be some love-struck British broad – or at least _not only_ that.

But the dame who walked off the elevator on that day sent those expectations up in smoke with her very first steps.

Margaret 'Peggy' Carter walked in with her head held high, her steps clicking and clacking away confidently as she strode purposefully towards the bullpen, and she landed a right good kick to the back of the knees of the person-of-interest that Reese had let slip the interrogation room restraints and who had attempted to make a bolt for the elevator doors.

It was quite the opening scene with the man sprawled at her feet, one of her high-heeled boots on the back of his neck pinning him to the floor and her pistol (pulled from who knows where) pointing at the back of his head.

From that moment onwards, he was going to find her to be _utterly confusing and exasperating…and…_ and, well to be frank, effing _gorgeous!_

Yeah, that's right, in that moment he developed what Dooley would later refer to as 'his little crush on Carter'.

He had always had a thing for strong women. His Gam-Gam was a force to be reckoned with, and he admired her like hardly anyone else. But he had always had a thing for tall, willowy blondes or maybe the exceptional redhead. But after meeting and working with Carter, he had developed an appreciation for curvaceous and robust brunettes.

He might have even asked her out for a date in those first weeks _if_ Miss Carter had been that competent office gopher girl. But she wasn't, as she was _Agent_ Carter, and quite resentful of the fact that they all considered that an honorary title.

And that's where the confusion and exasperation part kicked in.

In those first few weeks, when he had tried to make it easy on her and not have her worry her pretty little head while she was in mourning, she had told him 'not to be a condescending prat'.

But when he tried to give her more work so that she would feel productive, it was 'how did you graduate out of primary school if you still don't know your alphabet, Jack?' or 'how you survived in the Pacific without knowing how to make your own bloody coffee is a modern day marvel'.

And everyone quickly learned not to bring up Captain America to her. If a bloke was lucky, he would get a simple but cool, 'Thank you' or 'Yes, he was one of the bravest and best men I had the honor of knowing' and then a 'Now, this line of encryption is…'

But mostly, it was what Krzeminski called the 'Ice Queen' – rigid spine that would make a schoolmarm jealous, a stiff upper-lip or (more likely) pursed red lips, and a cool to glacial stare, the kind that froze your tongue to the roof of your mouth and made you regret asking impertinent and highly personal questions.

He admired her for not being a weeping damsel, but her carefully maintained composure sure made it hard to resist the urge to goad some sort of reaction out of her, even if it was only her uppity and wounded act when she wasn't allowed to play with the big boys out in the field.

At the time, he used to think that they might have all taken her more seriously if she had dressed with less femininity. _He doubted she realized the affect she had on the men of the S.S.R. when she strutted in like she owned the place all high heels, tight skirts, and red lipstick._ But it certainly wasn't business-like if one was judging by the blatant double-takes and once overs she got as she strode past them to her desk every morning.

But after seeing her in combat gear in Belarus, he knew that she could dress like a Quaker and his brain would still register her as one helluva gorgeous woman, and for most others – those who hadn't seen her in action saving their bacon and her interactions with the Howling Commandos – that would be justification enough to keep her locked up in the ivory tower of the office.

He, on the other hand, _had_ witnessed it, and so he could no longer deny her claims that she was capable. He just agreed with the rest of the world that there was no need for her to demonstrate that capability. And no matter, how much she _expected – no, demanded – to be treated as an equal and silently seethed at every appraisal of her person, every request for coffee or lunch order –_ there was no changing the reality of things: the war was over, the men were back, and good women like her did not have a place in the espionage world. He really wasn't even sure why she would want to.

But then there was the discovery that they were wrong and she was right about Howard Stark, that with just the help of a butler, she had managed to do what two dozen S.S.R. agents and several other U.S. justice departments and agencies had not – find Stark's inventory and uncover a conspiracy.

And don't get him even started on the Los Angeles investigation.

Suffice it to say, prior to that hornet's nest, he had been resentful of her being seen as his equal and fearful that all of his agents agreed with Sousa that she should have gotten the promotion to Chief and not him.

During all of that, he still found her to be infuriating, exasperating, and confusing. For why, oh why, could she not be a good little girl for once and keep her head down and be safe? (And yes, he still found her to be devastingly beautiful, a fact which was both dangerous to his career and his sanity).

But after all that, he knew that she knew what the hell she was doing and should (for the most part) be followed with (minimal) questioning. And he was not ashamed of his ordering the egg-head lab-rat to "do what Peggy says".

After that, he could no longer claim that there was not a need for her to be more than just an honorary agent. He was forced to realize that there was a need for good women like her in the espionage business, if only to save the nation, if not the world, from self-serving "good ol' boys"and their machinations. And that alone was reason enough for her to want to.

And after she got the bastard who shot him and after all their adventures following, he had no doubt that she was the woman – no, the most qualified _person_ – to be the Director of Stark's global intelligence agency.

And while he might never quite understand her and she might still give him ulcers and he will forever carry a torch for her (as much as he still might resent _that_ ) – he now had no shame in calling her "Boss."

To Jack Thompson, Peggy Carter was a riddle wrapped in an enigma enfolded in a mystery, but more importantly, she was the woman who changed his world.


	10. Bedtime Story

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter was inspired by the recent re-watching of the pilot episode of Syfy's _Killjoys_ (not mine) and _Shepweir always'_ request many moons ago for more family stories.

Enjoy.

* * *

 **Bedtime Story**

* * *

"So did you have a good birthday, monkey?"

"Yeth…but what happened to your fathe? Did you get dithtwacted again while you and mummy were whethling?"

Peggy had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing and giving herself away as she eavesdropped from the hallway on Jack's conversation with their now five year-old daughter.

"No, I did not get distracted again while mummy and I were wrestling. I learned my lesson," her husband huffed. And he had learned. After a black eye and sore jaw, he had learned that her 'female assets' did not signal her next move when they were sparring.

With far less annoyance, Jack asked, "Do you wanna know the story of how my face got all purple and blue? Or shall I continue reading - ?"

"No, thtory!" she lisped imperiously.

Their daughter was no idiot. The man with the silver tongue could spin a right good yarn. Peggy settled back to listen and to intervene if he could not keep it child-friendly.

"There was a time, not too long ago, that there was an evil man who ran a wicked empire. It was wicked because its people supplied bad things to bad people so they could hurt other people in their greedy quest for power."

It was an adequate enough description of Oren Tiers' criminal organization.

"Unfortunately, for your father, a Knight of the Shield, in his quest to put an end to all of this evil, he found himself captured and thrown into the evil man's dungeon to be questioned by his goons…"

~A~

 _zzzZZZztt!_

 _"Aa-ah-ha!" she heard Jack cry out through the bug that he must have planted somehow on one of the goons before he started getting zapped with electricity. Otherwise, her connection with him would have shorted out._

 _"You're taking this a bit personally for a boat, aren't you?" he gasped._

 _"My boss paid a pretty penny for that 'boat'. Even if it were at the bottom of the ocean, it is worth more than your sorry hide is, whole or in pieces. So I ask again, where is the yacht?"_

 _"And I say again, you are asking the wrong guy. But when this gets all sorted out, I am just going to let you know an apology bouquet of roses, just isn't going to hack – "_

 _Thwack!_

 _Jack's smart-ass rant must have gotten cut short by what sounded like a smack to the face. But did that stop him? Of course not, because in between spitting what had to be blood he started laughing._

 _Goon #1 was just as unamused as she was, because he barked, "And what is so funny, Mr. Thomas?"_

~A~

"…But even though his fate looked bleak, the Knight did not lose hope, as he knew the cavalry was coming…"

~A~

 _"It's just that I am always being told what a conceited bastard I am," explained 'Jack Thomas, thief-extraordinaire', between continued spats of blood. "But I now have proof that I am not – for not even I, a reputable ghost with sticky fingers, can claim that I was able to steal that fine-assed prize out from under you all by myself._

 _"So you gotta ask yourself…If I had a cracker jack team to help me steal it, what's preventing them from charging in here any minute n– ?"_

 _"Our own 'cracker jack' team of guards that's what."_

~A~

"…But in order to storm the Fortress of Evil, the Princess of the Shield had to do so by less than conventional means…"

~A~

 _She had listened to this violent exchange through the earpiece that was disguised as a pearl earring, and which they had thankfully not removed when they caught her._

 _She didn't see how violent it had been until they finished dragging her into the room by her hair and removing the cloth sack from her head._

 _"Shit," she cursed, because his right eye was swollen and his mouth was a bloody mess, and that was just his face. He was hanging from chains that were bolted into the ceiling, and his shirt was torn open, exposing a chest crusted with trails of blood, a torso that was a patchwork of bruises all colors of the rainbow, and studded with scorch marks from where he had been zapped with a cattle prod. All of this was not only on display for her, but for whoever was on the other side of the gilded two-way mirror on the far left wall._

 _The eye that wasn't swollen shut was swirling with anxiety, as he asked hoarsely, "Are you okay?"_

 _She shifted on her knees a little and then gave him a grim nod, as she quietly reassured, "I'm okay."_

 _"We caught her, not so much 'charging in here', but rather less than stealthily trying to bribe a guard. Let's just say, that I am most unimpressed."_

 _Jack ignored the dig, and instead glared at the 'mirror on the wall', growling, "Fine. Get your boss. Tell him I am ready to parley."_

 _"Mr. Tiers just isn't summoned. And he does not personally deal with the likes of you," the Goon sneered._

 _"No boss. No boat," Jack sneered right back._

~A~

"…The Knight knew that if a true bargain was to be struck, he would have to look the man in the eye, so he stuck to his guns, figuratively speaking of course, and waited. They did not have to wait long, because the iron-barred door soon creaked open and in stepped The Dragon…"

~A~

 _"My stars. Dictating terms to me in my own home? That is rather ballsy of you, Mr. Thomas. How_ _ **do**_ _you manage to get around?" asked the crime lord, known to the criminal underworld as 'the Dragon', as he circled the pair of them._

 _Although his voice was light with amusement, there was a hard edge to his tone that – well – set her teeth on edge._

 _Bloody, dangling Jack ignored it of course and sassed, "There's some special cream for that kind of chafing. It does wonders."_

 _"I am sure it does. Just like threatening your girl here got you to fold, when an hour of working you over got us nothing," the Dragon observed with such deceptive coolness that Peggy knew the violence was going to resume soon._

 _"That about sums it up."_

 _"Good to know that you Western trash are still a bunch of pansies."_

 _"And it's good to know that you Commies still get off on pain and brutality."_

 _It would start of course once the prerequisite exchange of insults was over. Men._

 _"Oh, we are far from barbarians. For example, after we have done a thorough …_ _ **inspection**_ _… of your lady here, we'll be sure to leave her the standard gratuitous fee for services rendered."_

 _From out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tiers give a jerk of his head to his henchmen._

 _While Jack shouted his protests, Goon #2 dragged her up from her knees and threw her onto the nearby table._

 _Over her own snarled protests and struggles, she heard Tiers snidely comment, "If this is all the team you hired, I'd consider asking for my money back if I were you."_

 _Goon #1 waved off #2, claiming first dibs on her, but she was far more interested in her partner's exchange, as he had quit struggling and was now smirking._

~A~

"…With an opening like that, the Knight knew that it was time to signal the Princess to quit playing damsel-in-distress and to start kicking a– er, derriere …"

~A~

 _"Well, that's assuming."_

 _"Assuming what?" Tiers asked, foolishly not picking up on the change in her partner's demeanor._

 _"That I am the one who did the hiring, and it was your boat that we came for."_

 _At his words, she turned her full attention back to the henchman who was pawing at her thick wool skirt and spreading her legs. She decided to 'help' him out and spread them even further, which allowed for the clever contraption that Howard had designed to aim right at him._

 _"What the - !"_

 _She fired. Hit by the stun blast, Goon #1 flew across the room._

 _While Jack was doing an admirable job taking care of Goon #2 with just his feet, she decided to help him out by blasting apart the chains he was dangling from before setting her sights on the Dragon._

 _He reconsidered scrabbling for the gun that one of his henchmen had lost and held his hands up in surrender._

 _When Jack was at her side, she declared, "Oren Tiers, in the name of S.H.I.E.L.D., you are under arrest for your crimes against humanity."_

~A~

"And so even though the Knight got a little banged up, he was still able (with the help of the Princess) to lock-up the Dragon and his evil underlings and shut down the wicked empire for good," Jack triumphantly concluded his tale.

"Good thtory, but – " her daughter declared tiredly mid-yawn, "not what hap-p-pened."

"Oh yeah?" Jack challenged, both offended and amused by her doubt. "Still like your theory better, huh?"

She couldn't hear her daughter's answer, but she could see, when she peeked around the corner, her dark curly head bobbing up and down in the affirmative.

"And why, monkey, is that more believable?"

"I am five yearth old. Not a little kid anymore. I know that princesses and knights aren't weal…" She let out another yawn, before concluding dismissively, "You are just mummy and daddy."

Confounded by that logic, Jack wished her goodnight and then turned off the light.

Upon seeing the sad, defeated look in Jack's eyes from being demoted from 'legendary hero' to 'just Daddy', she took pity on him when he joined her in the hallway and reassured softly, "Don't worry. Your son still believes we have magic."

Jack raised his uncut eyebrow questioningly at her.

She grinned at him mischievously, even as she sighed with heavy resignation, "Yeah, I am under strict orders to kiss you and make you all better."

Her husband practically beamed, "That's my boy!"

He then leaned down and proffered his wounded face to her, and she obliged.

She brushed her lips across his black eye, over his bruised cheek, down his sore jaw, to the corner of his mouth, and then gently kissed his lips.

A kiss, which he swiftly deepened until they were both breathless.

"How – how are you doing now?" she gasped when they broke apart. "Any better?"

There was a brief pause, and then rather roguishly he mused, "I don't know. I think we have less magic than Michael thought. It could require a few more attempts for the full healing effect to take place."

She returned his grin and kissed him again, happy to test out her husband's theory.


	11. Family, That Came to Be

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** As of right now, I have no new plots for this series, so it will be a while before I post anything more. But if you have any ideas send them my way, I am always open for prompts.

Also, please let me know what you think, which of these was your favorite or what you would like to see more of.

This chapter was inspired by **booboo12361015** who requested a spin-off from one of my _Moment_ 's chapters: ' _instead of grandmas piping in_ (to long distance phone calls) _it would be kids'_

Enjoy ; )

* * *

 **Family, That Came to Be**

* * *

 ** _Summer 1957_**

 _4PM in New Jersey, USA / 9PM in Casablanca, Morocco_

"So how was your flight?"

"Long, cramped," she replied wearily even as she kicked off her shoes and wiggled her tired and sore toes.

"And the hotel?" Jack inquired curiously, although from the hint of sympathy that she was detecting even over their tenuous connection he probably already suspected what her temporary living conditions were like.

Fanning herself, Peggy answered with a resigned sigh, "It has not yet installed those new-fangled cooling units. It is almost unbearably hot and muggy even this late at night."

She was in Casablanca to meet up with a 'friend' of a 'friend' (after a week of turning over every rock he was known to have crawled under) who just _might_ have some much needed intel on Hydra's movements in the region; and as they had no S.H.I.E.L.D. branch office set up in that region, she was also there to recruit a few more local eyes and ears. She was predicting that the Middle East and North Africa were going to be a hot beds of unrest and terrorist activity for several decades to come.

"How are the kids?" Although she had good reason to be here and it was nice to have a break from her 'mummy' role, Peggy was already terribly missing her terrible babes. Michael was a toddler now, nearly potty trained and growing so fast and Ellie was ever the wandering explorer and resident know-it-all even though she had yet to even start kindergarten.

"Oh, they're fine. Determined to rack up the water bill by wanting to run through the sprinklers all day. I had them attempt to give Dog a bath."

"How did that go?" she asked, smiling to herself as she could well imagine.

"Wet," was his dry and equally amused response.

 _"Is that Mummy?"_ a high-pitched voice chirped in the background.

"Yes, it is, Monkey. Do you want to say hello?"

"Hi, Mummy!" chirped her daughter rather loudly, and Peggy could just picture her snatching the receiver close to her mouth, just as she did with her anytime they were talking with either one of Ellie's sets of grandparents. "Did Daddy tell you that Michael got a marble stuck up his nose?"

"No…" she answered slowly and evenly, not wanting to indicate to her daughter if this bit of news had gotten Jack into trouble or not – either because Jack getting into trouble was exactly what mischief-making Ellie was hoping for or because this is what her daughter did _not_ want and she did not want Ellie to become upset at the idea. "How did that happen?"

"He put it there," was Ellie's matter-of-fact explanation.

Hoping she was keeping her amusement out of her voice and suspecting she was failing miserably, she replied, "He did, did he?"

"Yeah," her daughter answered with a giggle, and then over Jack's muttered _"tattle-tale"_ , Ellie prattled excitedly, "Oh! Oh! And I think Goldie is rein- reincar- is Jesus born-again!"

It took her a full minute to process this abrupt change of topic and quite frankly bizarre statement before she could respond. Eventually, she managed to ask, "You think Goldie the Fish is Jesus reincarnated?"

"Yeah, after church I saws him, and he was floatin' upside down in his tank, and now 3 days-es later he be swimmin' again and even golder-er than b'fore."

She was saved from having to come up with a response to this by Jack's quiet prompt: _"Alright, Monkey, speakin' of Goldie, have you fed him today?"_

"Oops. I gots-to-go, Mummy. Wuv you!"

"Love you too, sweetie!" she called out to her daughter, who was no doubt already halfway across the kitchen to complete her forgotten chore.

When she was sure it was just the two of them on the phone again, she prompted dryly, "So marble up the nose, huh?"

There was a brief pause, and then Jack admitted with a reluctant, aggrieved, and guilty sigh, "Yeah," before hastening to add, "But Doc Petersen was able to get it out in a flash. No fuss, no muss other than a few tears and lots of snot. And I am already writing a thank-you card to Anna Jarvis for her bail on the new fish. I hadn't thought Ellie saw him belly-up before I did and was able to make the switch."

"Hmmm…sounds like you have things well in hand."

And he really did. She couldn't blame him for not wanting to tell her all of that while she was away, especially since she had struggled so hard with the idea of being so far away from them in the first place.

"Yeah," he agreed proudly, but he was also quick to add with just a hint of the desperation only a father with two very young kids on his hands could have, "But come home soon. I am _not_ touching the subjects of white lies, death, and religion all on my lonesome."

~A~

 ** _Spring 1962_**

 _7:30AM in New Jersey, USA / 8:30PM in Seoul, Korea_

"So have you got him convinced yet?" Peggy asked him hopefully.

'Him' was Richard Dickerson (and yes, his Pacific unit, like a bunch of middle-schoolers, had _way_ too much fun with that unfortunate name). 'Double Dick' was completing his last tour for the Navy, and Jack had been sent to Seoul, Korea to recruit him to join S.H.I.E.L.D. so that he could be their local agent there. He was sharp-witted, observant, and had that excellent ability to make friends anywhere (and so was not as much of an asshole as his nickname might suggest and thus quite the asset).

"Not yet. He's got a few other offers he is considering," he admitted with an annoyed grumble. His famed 'silver-tonged' wiles were taking too damn long to produce results in his opinion and judging by the hint of longing he was hearing in Peggy's voice, hers too.

Trying not to sound as defeated as he was suddenly feeling (because overall he was far from ready to throw in the towel), he added more confidently, "But I think since we want to keep him here to utilize his local connections, he'll bite."

"Oh yeah? What's the bait?"

Smirking to himself, he shared his personal theory, "I think he's got a local girl on the side. At least that is what he hinted at when he invited me out to a dinner and a show for tomorrow night."

"If you're right, we'll need to do a background check on her. I don't want a new recruit coming into the fold already compromised."

"Ten-four," he agreed equably as he recognized the necessity for it, but he couldn't help but unhappily point out, "But that will extend my stay here."

"I know." Her answering sigh was filled with as much longing as he felt.

Their shared miserable silence was broken by their seven year old son's excited voice in the background: _"Mumsy, is that Daddy on the phone?"_

There was a muffled side conversation and then: "Hey, Dad, when are you coming home?"

 _Ah, the question of the hour._

"Hey, little man, it should be soon," he assured with more brightness than he felt. "Are the girls driving you crazy yet?"

"No, but Mumsy is going crazy. And my first game is next week. I don't want you to miss it."

"I'll be there. Don't you worry," he quickly reassured. Even if he had to call in one of his IOUs for Stark to use his private jet, he would be there. "But, Michael, why is your mother going crazy?"

He knew Peggy missed him, but was 'crazy' a seven year-old's exaggeration or was something else more serious going on?

Quite matter-of-factly Michael answered, "Oh, she misses you lots. She stays up late reading reports 'cause she can't sleep."

"Oh well, if that is the case, then you and Ellie are going to have to give her lots of extra hugs for me."

"Oh, we do." And Jack was sure that they did. Michael got especially clingy when either one of them was away for an extensive period of time. Jack would be more concerned about this, but he was pretty sure that this reaction would fade away the closer he got to his adolescent years.

"And tonight," Michael crowed with such excitement that he could practically picture the boy bouncing in the chair by the phone, "we're going to have a big campout sleep over in the backyard to watch the star shower! That way Mumsy can take a break and not be a she-grouch."

Trying not to laugh, Jack kept his response to a minimal, "Hmmm… sounds like a plan."

As soon as he got Peggy back on the phone, he asked dryly, "So you are letting the kids stay up to watch the meteor shower tonight?"

She was always going on about the importance of 'keeping to the routine' when she was away 'for the sake of consistency and stability'. But when he was away…

"Yeah, it's not a school night," Peggy defended.

"And it's for the sake of your sanity?" He couldn't help but tease. He wondered which one of his two charmers came up with that justification when they argued with their mother to bend her rules for this special occasion.

"Apparently," she acknowledged with a chuckle. "I think certain someones with big ears have been overhearing certain other someones' big mouth complaints that I am 'all-work and no-play'," she noted in her tone of voice that was especially reserved for Howard Stark.

Even without that tone, he would have known it was Stark making the complaint, as Peggy's usual tolerance for her friend's shenanigans infamously disappeared when she was juggling work and being alone with the kids.

He chose the better part of valor and wisely did not comment, observing, "We are going to have to be really careful to ensure that we don't have little con artists in the making who use our emotions against us."

"Ha! Don't I know it."

There was a knock on his door, and he knew that his ride to the embassy shindig was here. Reluctantly, he said, "I got to go, but, Peggy?"

"Yes?"

"I miss having to wrestle you for the blankets too."

And grinning like a buffoon, he hung up to her squawked protests about being a "blanket-hog".

~A~

 ** _Fall 1966_**

 _6:30PM in New Jersey, USA / 6:30PM in Nassau, Bahamas_

"Mother, tell Dad he is being unreasonable! He's got us locked down like – like _inmates_ in one of those super-secret prisons of yours!"

"Now be fair, Ellie," Jack interjected coolly before she could respond. "You're the only one that is grounded, as you are the only one who attempted to sneak out past curfew."

"Is this true, Ellie?"

The only response she heard was a mumbled something that ran along the lines of 'party' at some Brad's or Chris's house.

Taking that as a yes, she unsympathetically chided her 13 year-old daughter, stating quite firmly, "Well, tough then."

Before she could protest, Peggy added, "And if your attitude and behavior does not change – that includes trying to play your father and me against each other _or_ butting into our private conversations to do so _as well as_ any further attempts at a 'jailbreak' – the door will come off your room and bars will be put on your window and I will assign a probie agent to tail your every move."

This threat of hers was met with momentary dead silence, but when it was broken there were no protestations that 'she wouldn't dare', only a huffed and resentful: "Fine. Whatever. Enjoy the Bahamas, _Mother_."

And then there was decided _click_ as she disconnected the upstairs phone from the call.

"You know – not that I am complaining with the worse cop to my bad cop routine and all because, sweetheart, you are something fierce and I love you for it – but technically you can't use resources and personnel for personal reasons. I don't think even Howard would let you get by with that."

"Yeah well, she does not need to know that," she wearily pointed out, and then to change the subject from their independent-minded daughter and all the headaches that accompany raising a teenage girl she asked, "So how is Michael?"

"Spoiled."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, the little charmer and nerd has convinced my parents to take him to the World Expo three days in a row."

There was such an odd mixture of amusement, affection, and annoyance that she was not quite sure how to respond. Finally, she settled on a hesitant observation. "You sound…annoyed with that. I would think you would be relieved to have him out of the house while Ellie is in one of her moods."

"Oh, I am. It's just that I think I'm jealous."

Peggy scowled at the phone at this, since with voice alone she was not sure if he was pulling her leg or not. Taking the bait, because she had no other choice, she asked, "You want to go to the World Expo?"

"No. I get enough of that squint speech and jargon at work, even when I am no longer in the S.S.R.," he declared with an amused chuckle. Even more wryly and with far more bitter introspection than what was usual for him, he continued, "No, it's just that if I had displayed half the interest that Michael shows in science projects when I was growing up as he does, I think my parents would have disowned me."

Peggy knew how important it was to Jack's father for his son to uphold a certain kind of masculine image (oh how well she knew and her being her husband's boss was a great point of contention), so she made a small mew of sympathy at this insight into his upbringing, but with far less sympathy, she teased, "Well, look on the bright side, darling – if you think Ellie is unmanageable now, can you imagine what she would be like if my mother was there?"

There was yet another dead moment of silence and she could just picture his face screwing up into a grimace while he pictured that horrific image – shopping and enabling and spoiling and more shopping. Eventually, he managed to plead exasperatedly, "Please, Peg, don't give me ulcers."

Taking pity on him, she reported, "Well, I will be home soon. If there was a Hydra cell of operatives here, I am not finding any sign of them." And then because she could not resist, she added gleefully, "And then we can plot together how we will spoil our grandbabies one day."

In between all of his squawks and sputters, she was able to distinguish: "What the f– … Marge! I'm too young! ... She's too young! … I don't even want to think how – grandkids – Geez! You are one evil woman!"

"I know, but you love me anyways, don't you, Jack darling?" she wheedled.

"You know I do," was his grumbling reply.

After that the pair of them sat in silence, neither one of them wanting to say goodbye, but knowing that the sooner she wrapped up her investigation out here, the sooner she could come home, Peggy sighed, "I have to go."

"I know. I'll hold the fort down here, and all of its _inmates_ will be hale, hearty, and whole for your return."

Peggy laughed at his wry twist to Ellie's complaints and rang off, content in the knowledge that he would keep that promise. He always did.

~A~

 ** _Late Summer 1946_**

 _6:45PM in New York City, USA / 11:45PM in London, England_

 _"…You don't think I'd be setting myself up for failure, juggling a career and family?"_

 _"Peggy, the only way you of all people would fail at that is if you didn't have a bloke who was 100% behind you and you didn't accept his help when he offered. If there is anything that I have learned to expect about you, is that you defy expectations…."_

~A~

 ** _February 1953_**

 _10PM in a small town near Camp Lehigh base in New Jersey, USA_

Standing over their newborn daughter Ellie's crib, Peggy voiced to Jack the question that was on her mind, whispering it into the dark:

"Jack? Do you think I'm crazy?"

After several years of marriage and many years of close partnership, Jack had learned to recognize a loaded question and not put his foot in it – or at least not irrecoverably. After a healthy moment of consideration, he eventually responded with a circumspect if slightly teasing:

"To be honest? Fifty percent of the time. But for what reason in particular?"

"For trying to be both the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and a mother."

"Crazy? No. Ambitious? Yes." When she continued to hug herself and gaze anxiously down at their little girl, Jack wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest, whispering confidently, "But you and me? We got this."

"You have my back?"

"Always."


	12. See Rule 3

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter was inspired by _Shepweir always'_ prompt: "some goon thinks that threatening Ellie or Michael is a good idea and Jack & Peggy show them in a very painful memorable way what that strategy will lead to"

Enjoy.

* * *

 **See Rule #3**

* * *

Fall 1969

"You have 3 messages from Mr. Van Hewitt, a reminder from your husband _not_ to pick up the milk as he will pick it up when he goes to the pharmacy, another application from Arnim Zola to be considered for the Operation Paperclip program, and a reminder from Ned in accounting to send him your monthly receipts."

Peggy grimaced at the last two, felt a wave of gratitude towards her husband, and rolled her eyes at the first.

"Are any of Van Hewitt's messages free of four-letter expletives?" she asked her assistant tiredly, not really expecting an affirmative.

"No," Ivy Littleton replied with far more amusement than was natural for someone who had to have been dealing with the crude and belligerent businessman all morning, while Peggy was in her intercontinental teleconference call. The women's hazel eyes danced with mischief as she inquired, "So Madame Director, would you like the edited versions or the complete quotes, which are quite … _creative_ in their descriptions and in anatomical positions?"

Although she could have used a good laugh, Peggy really did not have the time to indulge herself or her assistant – case in point, she was going to be shifting through her mail and signing off on expenditure reports, while listening to Ivy run through her messages. "The edited versions, please, but file the verbatim messages for documentation purposes."

"Aye, aye, Madame Director."

Ivy was halfway through the second of Mr. Van Hewitt's irate complaints about her 'audacity' to notify the congressional committee that supervised defense contractors about his company's compromised product, when she came across an unmarked envelope-packet.

Unmarked was never a good sign, so with a mixture of trepidation and mild annoyance at whoever was adding to her work load, she followed standard procedures and pulled on gloves before opening the envelope away from her and over her trash bin.

There was no explosion, no fiery damage to her eyebrows. No puffs of mysterious powder. No pause in Ivy's report – which was a sad commentary on how many enemies Peggy Carter had made over the years.

There was however a neatly typed note and several photographs.

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS.

IF YOU WANT YOUR HOUSE TO BE YOUR HOME,

MAKE YOUR HEART YOUR BUSINESS.

The photos were of her teenage daughter walking home from school, her son at his Little League practice, her children walking the neighbor's dog.

And a sniper's rifle scope drawn over each of their faces.

~A~

Ellie had never really been afraid for her life. Her parents, especially her mother, had put the fear of God in her at times, but she had always known that they would keep her safe no matter what the cost.

So when Daniel Sousa met them at the safe house and told them that the reason that they had been snatched off the streets by her mother's SHIELD minions was because someone was threatening them in order to force her mother to resign, she was not afraid.

She _was_ worried, but only marginally for her parents.

Uncle Daniel, wise as he was, misinterpreted the gnawing of her lip however, and he was quick to reassure, "You don't need to fret so. Your parents will catch whoever is behind this and you will all be home safe and sound."

"Oh, I am not worried."

"You're not?"

"Not for Mum and Dad," she explained with a dismissive shrug. "They can take care of themselves. No, I am kind of scared for whoever _is_ stupid enough to threaten us. I mean, I have never entirely understood that whole pray-for-your-enemies thing, but I think this situation really applies. Can you imagine what kind of wrath Mum and Dad are going to rain down on them?"

While she looked expectantly at her Uncle Daniel, her brother made a derisive scoffing noise next to her on the couch, even as he continued to try to build a fort of the hotel room's playing cards.

"Pray for them? _Puh-lease_. Survival of the fittest, Sis. This world needs less stupid people, and certainly does not need them passing their low I.Q. genetics on to the next generation."

Daniel stared blankly at the two of them, apparently completely flummoxed by their response. Eventually, he managed to ramble, "Well, good. I'm glad that we're not going to get hysterical or anything. I am crap at anything to do with tears."

"Really? Even after being married to Aunt Violet all these years?" Michael muttered, not quite under his breath.

Ellie elbowed him in the stomach, hissing, "Michael!"

She took smug satisfaction in watching her inconsiderate brother's card-fort collapse.

~A~

"Are they safe?" Jack asked as soon as his friend joined them in the storage shed that was one of many of Peggy's bolt-holes.

"Yes, they're safe," Daniel stated, thankfully not taking offense at his questioning of his competence.

As soon as the man uttered those three words both he and Peggy finally relaxed. He could feel the tension easing out of his muscles and that icy pit in his stomach begin to thaw. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Peggy shake loose the muscles in her hand that had been clenched in a fist for over an hour.

After Peggy shot their friend a look of gratitude, she asked concernedly, "They didn't give you any problems?"

It was a legitimate question, as Ellie was supposed to have been out shopping with her friends for the homecoming dance and Michael had been at his photography club. Neither would have appreciated being hustled away by a swarm of overprotective agents.

Daniel shook his head though, and despite the amused glint to his eye that hinted at some secret amusement, Jack felt reassured. He also knew that his Ellie had outgrown enough of her rebellious streak to be trusted not to encourage her brother to help her escape.

No, she may still chafe at the confines of protective custody, but she would respect it. The most trouble she had probably given Danny-boy would have been her incessant questions about whether or not Jeremy had decided to go to Stanford or whatever east coast Ivy-League school he was considering that was in her neck of the woods.

And to think that this morning his greatest concern about his 16-year-old daughter had been her obsession with a certain college-aged boy.

"Do you know yet who sent you the note and photos?"

"No," Peggy huffed irritably.

"I still think it is that asshole Warren who is filing a sexual discrimination case against you for choosing Frankie over him," he groused.

"Ha! I have seen the kind of stakeout photos Warren takes, and there was a reason I promoted Francine over him," she scoffed.

She had a point. The three photos were of much better quality than that washout's had ever been.

"Wait," Daniel ordered, looking back and forth incredulously between them. "Gerald Warren is suing you for promoting Wickers over him because she is a _woman_?"

"And therefore a part of my 'Gals Only Club', but that's beside the point," Peggy dismissed. "We aren't going to waste time and resources tracking down all the alibis of all the enemies I have made over the years."

"Even in the last 6 months would be stretching us pretty thin," Jack pointed out wryly.

Peggy shot him a glare.

Seeing that she wasn't in the mood to – well – have the mood lightened (and to be honest neither was he), he countered, "So, what is the plan of attack? It's not to follow the evidence like a good li'l by-the-book agent – or at least not _just_ to follow the evidence – is it? You wouldn't have called this charming secret war room council if that was your only plan of attack, Marge."

"No, it is not," she declared with such fierceness that the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

And as he and Daniel waited with baited breath for whatever mad cap scheme she was about to outline, he didn't know if he should be worried that she was preparing to throw herself on the grenade to protect their children or if she was about to sweep him up in her parental-protect-our-young madness.

But as soon as she got done outlining her plan, he knew that he had underestimated Peggy Carter yet again.

For with his wife and mother of his children, why did it have to be either-or, when it could potentially be both-and?

~A~

If Ivan survived this, he was going to double – no, _triple_ his fee. His client had undersold what a crazy bitch his target was.

 _'Just take a few pictures of the kiddies and mail them. She'll go running scared and hole up.'_

 _'She's the Queen Bee … put in charge because she knows who to screw…and who relies on her male workers…They're just wannabe agents. If they were any good, they would work for Langley, not Stark.'_

 _'Just tune her and her kids up…Remind her that it is a man's world…and to keep her pretty but broken nose out of it.'_

If he survived this, he was going to make his client eat every last one of those lies or moronic miscalculations.

'This' had started off with him successfully tailing the Bitch to the safe house where she had stashed her kids, which he had seen their silhouettes through the windows – or at least he had thought he had.

'This' had proceeded to be him sneaking into the house through a 'hole' in the guard's perimeter search – only to be confronted by child-sized cardboard cutouts, the Bitch with a sawed off shotgun, and the Husband who stormed up from the basement.

'This' was him strapped to a chair, being interrogated by the pair of them.

"Option A: You talk. We listen. No pain and you live. Option B: You don't talk. I prune - and by that I mean I remove - your fingers with my hedge clippers one joint at a time. An excruciating experience, or so I have been told. Option C: I like to switch things up a bit, to avoid boredom on my part, but the punch line is: you die."

Ivan stared into the icy blue eyes of Jack Thompson and knew that the man was capable of delivering on all that he threatened, despite him no longer being in his prime when he had built that reputation for himself.

But would he do it in front of his wife?

He eyed the woman. She sat on the motel bed eyeing him coldly as she impatiently drummed her fingers on the side-table next to her. The look in her eyes promised…Annihilation.

His throat went suddenly as dry as the Sahara Desert, causing him to resort to the oldest dodge tactic in the book: "Can – can I get some water or – or whisk- "

And then like a cobra, she struck. _Bam!_

One moment, she was sitting impatiently and undermining her husband's methods. The next, she was whipping up the phone and smashing him in the face with it.

Over the ringing in his ears, he heard her growl, "Less talk, more pain. He threatened our children."

"Be my guest, darlin'."

Thompson said this, not as if he was indulging a student playing at the craft, but as if he looking forward to watching a master display her profound skill.

Out of the corner of his already swelling eye, he could see Madame Director Carter drop the phone and reach for the clippers…

"Option A! Option A! I'll tell you who hired me!"

"Aw man! I was hoping to get me an ear too!"

~A~

 _Less than three months later…_

 ** _FORTUNE DOES NOT FAVOR THE BOLD_**

 **The man with the Midas Touch, the entrepreneur vaunted to be the next Howard Hughes, if not Howard Stark, has fallen into a series of most misfortunate events; and for what is soon to be poor Marcus Van Hewitt, when it rains it pours.**

 **The first of these events was when it came to the attention of the defense congressional committee that one, if not more, of his manufacturing plants, had been infiltrated by enemy agents. An aide of one of the committee members shared that this information was provided by the intelligence agency that had been tracking an Anti-American organization's activity on U.S. soil. "The worst part of it is, Mr. Van Hewitt had been informed by this same agency that his military products had been sabotaged and he decided to ignore their advice to halt production until a full inspection could be done. He was willing to risk our troops' lives for the Almighty Dollar," this same aide shared. "This is why the committee decided to cancel his contract." Much to Mr. Van Hewitt's chagrin, Stark Industries was awarded the new contract.**

 **As a result of this, the stock prices plummeted for MVH Corporation, which led to his board questioning his competency. An executive assistant shared that during this time of company in-fighting, it was discovered that Mr. Van Hewitt was sleeping with a rival board member's wife, and a friend of Mr. Van Hewitt's in-laws shared that this led to them hiring a private investigator. "He turned up some shady dealings in his personal finances…it looked from what I could see as if he was siphoning off funds to the Cayman Islands in preparation of running off with his mistress – and** ** _not_** **the married one." This last discovery has instigated an IRS audit, a call for his resignation as CEO, and for a divorce.**

 **And to top it all off, Mr. Van Hewitt is being charged with multiple criminal offenses. Aside from conspiracy to defraud the government, there are the charges of conspiracy to assault minors, conspiracy to extort, and mailing threatening communications. All of which look to be the first of many charges that he will be facing.**

 **…**

The woman who had once been known as Dottie Underwood set the newspaper article aside and smirked with grim satisfaction.

She had thought that being a mother and spending most of her days behind a desk had caused Peggy Carter to go soft. Much to her relief, however, it only seemed to have provided the devious and cunning woman with much more arsenal for her bag of tricks.

Before Peggy had become a mother or a Madame Director, Dottie knew that Agent Carter would have left it at notifying the committee of his willingness to endanger the military lives. But she would bet every last one of her cigarette rations in this American prison hell-hole that the man had poked the lioness.

And now with all the resources and tools that Carter had at her finger tips, she had made sure to find all of his little dirty secrets and then shine a spotlight on each and everyone.

An order for around the clock stake-outs here, an order for an agent to infiltrate the accounting firm there, an anonymous tip to the P.I. here, a few phone calls to the cuckolded husband and the press there…and voila! the destruction of a man's life.

It looked as if this was an achievement that Peggy had pursued with a bloodthirsty and vindictive relish; traits that Dottie could not help but admire, even in the woman she most despised.

She did not pity Carter's victim though. He should never have gone after Peggy's cubs.


	13. Commandos and Clubs

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter originated from _what-is-a-social-life_ 's prompt: "Maybe something involving the Howling Commandos (Or at least Dugan), either during "The Iron Ceiling" or after?"

My muse went for after, like way after.

Anywho, enjoy.

* * *

 **Commandos and Clubs**

* * *

Jack had planned for a quiet evening. The next few nights were going to be nothing short of a circus, and Peggy had plans, a fact which he was going to take advantage of.

But with one rather boisterous series of knocks at his door, he knew quiet was not meant to be.

When he opened his front door, he was greeted with a big ass grin, buried under a big ass mustache, worn by a big ass man.

"Sergeant Dugan! What can I do for you this evening?"

"It's more like what we can do for you, Jackie-boy!" the big man boomed.

"'We'?" Jack asked.

At this, a chorus of interjections rang out from the previously unseen crowd of Howling Commandos clustered at the end of his apartment hallway.

"Yeah, us!" – Happy Sam.

"Geez, and they call this guy a federally trained observer" – Jones.

"Yeah, we heard you weren't going to have a bachelor party" – Pinkerton.

"And we decided that this _must_ be remedied immediately" – Jacques.

Dugan jerked his thumb in their direction, "Yeah, what the fellas said."

And then before Uncle Sam could say 'I want you for the U.S. Army', they had him bundled up in his coat and out the door.

Once they were all squashed in the back of the limo that they had apparently all chipped in for, he was finally able to ask, "Er, not that I am not appreciative or anything, but why is it that you guys are doing this for me? I only met a few of you in Lithuania and then met you once or twice since you've returned state-side."

"Well, Peggy said that you're friend Sousa couldn't because he'll still be in L.A. until the weddin'." Dugan began to explain but was interrupted by Jim Morita interjecting:

"Yeah, and it would be really weird with him doing it and all, seeing as he used to date Carter."

"And then that guy that was with us in Lithuania…"

"Ramirez," Jack helpfully supplied for Pinkerton, who was sitting on his right.

"Ramirez, yeah, he's working undercover, and we were also told that all your Pacific combat buddies either couldn't afford to come to New York or wouldn't be here until the weekend."

"Who told you?"

At this Sawyer, who was sitting on the other side of him, piped up, "Ramirez did. When he found out that he was going undercover and wouldn't be able to, he sent out a S.O.S. And Carter just told us who we might be able to invite."

"She specifically said not Stark though," Dugan reassured. His blue eyes glinted with mischief as he added, "Not because she thought his vices would corrupt you or anything. But more because she was afraid that he would take you somewhere exotic – "

"Timbuktu", "Hong Kong", and "Siberia" were all helpfully suggested.

" – and Stark would 'forget' you there. And we're doing this for the simple reason that we like ya."

Jack was mostly reassured (and very moved) by that last part, but he was kind of concerned that all of that about Stark (while probably true) had been mentioned more for the purpose of putting the night that they had planned for him into perspective. You know, 'at least we aren't going to leave you in Timbuktu' was going to be theme for the night.

But that was just his paranoid thinking, right?

~A~

The first stop (because he was assured that they were going to be trying out several places) was the Scarlet Club.

It looked classy. It's only logo was one of those fancy heraldry crests which was black with gold edging and a scarlet 'A' in the center.

Once inside, he continued to have this impression. It had black velvet cloth booths with red tablecloth-covered tables, a walnut bar at the back, and black stage at the front with no poles to be found. On the stage currently, a woman in a long clingy scarlet evening gown (low-cut to be sure) sang a sultry ballad in a low husky voice. It was naughty, but again, classy.

Jack found himself relaxing. It seemed Dugan and his boys had found a place that was more high-end and not tawdry, so perhaps Peggy wouldn't kill him once she found out what he did for his Bachelor party.

While everyone was settling down at the booth and were getting drinks, he leaned over to Dugan and asked, "How did you find out about this place?"

Dugan's bushy eyebrows furrowed as he tried to recall. "I can't really remember where I heard it, but…" he shrugged dismissively and grinned, "Since I did, it must mean that it was worth checking out."

Jack shrugged too and took a sip of his whiskey.

And nearly sprayed it all over the red tablecloth when he saw the next… _entertainer._

She was dressed in the most provocative outfit he had ever seen. It was an ensemble of black and red just like the décor of the club. It included high-heeled black leather boots, black silk stockings, and black lace garters that peeked beneath the red lace skirt, which matched the red lace cut-out sides of the black, sweetheart-necklined leather corset.

The red lace skirt barely covered her ass, and only made a man bemoan how difficult it made it to tell if her briefs were leather or not as well. The bustier parted at the middle and was laced by a scarlet ribbon which not only served to accent how well-endowed she was but also caused a man to have visions of untying that ribbon with one's teeth. Her black fur wrap that she moved sensuously around her body only made one think of the path they would like their hands and mouth to trail.

Her long elbow length black gloves, the black army-like cap with the visor brim embellished with the club's red logo that perched on her brunette head, and the black and red braided riding crop with a red feather at the end were just like the rest of her outfit – a seductive mixing of the masculine and the feminine, which emphasized her complete power and control over her audience.

And to Jack's and his companions horror, beneath that cap's visor was the face (and well-displayed body) of one Peggy Carter.

And she saw them.

To her credit as an undercover agent (she must be undercover and that was how Dugan had heard of the place), she did not react at all. Her sultry smile remained. Her big dark eyes did not flash in recognition or in anger.

In fact, the only change in her behavior was her detour towards their table.

Once there, she leaned down and put her considerable bosom in his face, just as she used that crop of hers to tap his chin, prompting him to close his hanging open mouth, just in time to her crooned "Good boys do what they're told" . To her "Bad boys get more than a scold," she trailed her other gloved hand across his chest and then pinched his nipple, hard enough to cause him to visibly jerk in his seat.

And then, she moved on to her real target, a bald man in a red and black checkered suit a few tables over.

She draped her wrap over him, sat in his lap, ran her fingers over his chest (and probably in his vest pockets too), and tugged on his tie as she made her 'reluctant' way back to the stage.

During all of this, he and the Howling Commandos were sitting silently, bug-eyed, and thinking ' _oh-shit!_ ' kind of thoughts.

They stayed this way, not looking at one another (or at least not in his direction), until partway into the next song, and then they as nonchalantly as they could paid their bill and moved on to the next planned event.

Much to his relief, it was to Atlantic City for a night of gambling and shows – not the stripper kind.

~A~

When Jack next saw Peggy, she was in a demure lilac-colored cocktail dress, standing in front of the church, waiting for him and everyone else to join her for the rehearsal dinner.

Her dress might have been demure, but her impish sly grin was anything but.

"Have a good time last night?"

Jack nervously cleared his throat and tugged at his suddenly too tight collar, before answering honestly, "Er, yeah after we left you, we went to Atlantic City. I lost more money than I usually do though. I was kind of worried that we blew your cover."

Peggy's smile softened somewhat, either at his reassurance that there had been no more burlesque joints or at his concern. While she straightened his now crooked tie, she did her own bit of reassurance, "No, I got my man."

"Good," he declared with a relieved nod, and then more hesitantly, "Hey, Marge?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"Er…" he stammered, not quite able to voice the burning question in his mind.

But Peggy knew. Chuckling lowly, she teased, "Yes, Jack, I did get to keep the outfit."


	14. Home Alone

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter originated from _93MANIAC_ 's prompt: "what do you think about Peggy getting pregnant and being forced to kick a** while having a big 9 month pregnant belly?... and what would Dottie say and do if she saw the big bellied Peggy?"

And then not only did my Muse go crazy with a homage to one of the best Christmas movies ever and allusions to Wizard of Oz (which I have been dying to use for like ever) but Daniel butted in with his Peggysous friendship and Ramirez decided to have his debut...and well, I hope you all enjoy this as much as I did writing this : )

* * *

 **Home Alone**

* * *

 _April 1955_

"Hello?"

"Hi, Pe-eg. It's Da-niel," greeted the voice somewhat haltingly. The unnatural pauses had more to do with the line connection than her friend's hesitation.

 _Note to self: whenever you or Jack have time, contact phone company to clear up connection._

"It took you long-er than nor-mal to come to the phone. Is ev'rything al-right?" his concerned query interrupted her mental to-do list.

Peggy rolled her eyes and chided exasperatedly, "If you are going to be checking up on me for Jack every time he goes on a night assignment, please, note that I do not move as fast as I once did. I was letting the dog out."

Jack had forgotten to do so before he bolted to follow up on a reported sighting in Queens of some Russian agents known to formerly have Hydra connections. Johnny, their poor English Bulldog, had been doing his own waddling dance at the back door in his anxiety to relieve himself when she got home. God bless him for holding it. In her current state, it would have been highly interesting to see how she would have cleaned up his mess if he hadn't. Bending over to put on her stockings in the morning was always an event, or at least it had been before she hit the 8-month mark and she finally conceded to let Jack assist her with the onerous task.

And don't get her started on her attempts to help Jack repaper their walls. The descriptor 'fiasco' is quite the understatement.

"Check on you? F-or Ja-ack? Th-at's not – "

Over her scoffing noise, he sighed and admitted, "The-ere's really no point in pro-testing, is there?"

"No, not really," she confirmed dryly. "And I _am_ fine by the way."

"Good," he heartily declared into her ear, and then added curiously, "So how has it been with Dottie?"

After leading them on in several merry little chases over the years, their new agency had finally caught the bloody woman, and this time – no matter what Jack said – _she_ got to question the squirrely bint. It helped that, as Director of SHIELD, she was the boss.

"Oh, she manages to get her digs in about how it is a 'disappointment' that I have sunk to the level of the common 'dumpy' little housewife and become 'yet another baby-making factory' as much as possible, you know, in between her sneers and mysterious smug I-have-a-secret grins," Peggy answered breezily.

Fortunately for her, Daniel had finally learned how to read her, or at least enough to know when she wanted a subject dropped. If he had done his usual reassuring of her value and skills, she might have burst into tears. She never could predict what would trigger her 'hormonal tear duct leaks', but things like kindness and respect had a higher than average success rate. God help her if Dottie ever figured that out. (And there went another tangent thought.) _Her point being_ – that instead of Daniel's usual response, he just as breezily moved on to:

"So h-how do you li-ike it so far?"

"Oh, you know, about as well as you can imagine," she sighed, and then glaring resentfully at her briefcase on the kitchen counter, she explained, "Being the Director of Deskwork again, despite my oath to be more active in the field, is probably a small to large part of why I have been insisting on being the one to interrogate Dottie so late in the game."

To his credit, he only mildly snorted at her whining and only kindly rebuked her with, "I know you and Violet are of the same opinion when it comes to 'molly-coddling' expectant women. I have been on the receiving end of her arguments and have overheard your discussions often enough on the subject to know the lines by heart about women working in the fields until they go into labor and then some of them squatting and having them right there. But, _Peggy_ , the field work we do is _a lot_ different than the agricultural kind, you have to admit."

"I know, I know," Peggy grumbled. Jack had made a similar argument, if a bit louder in volume and with more growled swearing, the night she had acquiesced and delegated her field investigations to others. At the memory of that bitter exchange, she became grateful that her new house allowed her to be on the phone and make tea at the same time.

While she busied herself with her tea, she observed dryly, "At least I am not the one being asked to fetch coffee and file. I have what Jack calls 'minions and lackeys', and I call 'assistants' and 'junior agents' for that."

Daniel laughed at that, stating, "That is one way to find the silver lining, and while I am not surprised that you're mind jumped to work at my earlier question of 'how you liked it', I had really been asking about the new house."

Peggy smirked – not at Daniel, but more so at herself and Jack. For no one should really be surprised that her mind had immediately jumped to work. Her first kid had not made her more domestic, and no matter how hard Jack kept his fingers crossed, not even his wishful-thinking-traditionalist-self believed that the second one would either. Not that Jack wanted Peggy to change into 'his good little housewife'; just that he had more than once expressed the desire that they _both_ had more work-life balance.

"The house is – " Peggy started to say, but then she heard a faint growl from Johnny who was still in the backyard and then a little whimpering yelp.

"Hold that thought."

~.~

Before Daniel could reply to her sudden and terse order, he heard what sounded like the thud of her receiver being hastily dropped to the kitchen counter.

There were a few moments of faint shuffling and slopping noises, and then _nothing_.

Daniel prayed that whatever Peggy had heard that it had something to do with Jack coming home early or a neighbor dropping by to bring her a 'welcome to the neighborhood' goodies basket of some sort.

But it was not to be. And Daniel felt so utterly useless and helpless three thousand plus miles away in L.A. as he heard sounds of:

 _Crashing._

 _Banging._

 _Smacking._

 _And a cacophony of Crying-Screaming-Cursing-and-Yelling._

And then…

Peggy was back on the phone, breathing heavily as she inanely chattered like a mad woman, "The house is nice enough. I suppose. Easily defensible, but it is now more than ever going to need a few more remodeling jobs."

"Peggy! What the hell?!" he bellowed into the phone, not at all amused by her faux nonchalance. "Are you alright?"

"I am. For now," she only somewhat convincingly panted. "But could you be a dear and call our new HQ? They'll know how to find Jack the quickest."

"Sure thing," he agreed, but then hastily asked, "Is Ellie alright?"

"I don't know. I haven't gone outside to check on him yet." And then before he could voice his confusion, she continued in that cool-as-a-cucumber but highly distracted tone, that did not sound at all like the Carter he knew, "Oh, not Johnny. You said 'Ellie'. She's fine. She's over at the in-laws."

"Oh, g– "

"Uh, Daniel? Could you hurry?" she hesitantly, yet insistently, interrupted.

"Sure. Wh– ?"

"I think my water just broke."

~A~

Ramirez stared through the observation glass at the sorry-assed lion of a man on the other side. His six-foot plus and 275 lb. frame sat handcuffed to and hunched over the interrogation room table, practically curling into a fetal position. And for good reason too.

In addition to squinting through his one eye that was not swollen shut, he favored his right arm, which was bandaged at the shoulder from a gunshot wound and at his hand from a burn. His feet were bandaged too. His clothes were torn and blood-stained, and they along with his bushy mane were covered in some sort of – 'adhesive', per the on-scene crime tech's preliminary report.

Rick Ramirez almost felt sorry for the pathetic man, who clearly had been sent in like cannon fodder to face Peggy Carter – almost. But his boss was in early labor, his best friend was frantic with worry (or he would be the one to pound out the answers from the man – no carrot for this guy), and Rick knew that he was going to enjoy every moment that he got to stick the screws to this goon.

With a deep breath to get his game face on, he made his entry:

"I'm told that I should see the other guy," and here he let out a low impressed whistle, "But _man_ , you are one fucked-up mess, Mr. Cobarde."

The man scowled-grimaced at him as much as he could through his swollen face, before growling, "If you and your partner in Interrogation Room #2 with Rusty are going to try to pit us against each other with the 'whoever talks first, gets the deal' strategy, you can forget it. Neither of us are talkin'."

Rick snorted, "Oh, you're half right, Leo. Rusty isn't going to be doing any talking. He's still in critical condition at the hospital. The doctors are none too sure if he's gonna make it or not." When Leonardo Cobarde paled at that, he added with a predatory grin, "And if you're waiting for that lawyer you called while you were there at the hospital, he has not made an appearance yet."

Cobarde flinched and mumbled something along the lines of "…too busy to represent…", thus confirming Rick's suspicions that there really had never been a 'lawyer'. This also told him that whoever Cobarde had called has not been in the country long enough to place an attorney on retainer. So poor 'little' Leo was on his own. Rick could use this to his advantage.

"So your boss has left you high and dry, huh? Not one to want to waste money on such a screw-up?"

"I didn't screw nothin' up! That she-bitch from hell overreacted! We was just trying to escort her to have a chat with – "

"With?" Rick prompted when he went silent.

The man went to mulishly cross his arms, but only managed it so far before his shoulder reminded him of his injury; so through gritted teeth he growled, "I ain't talkin'."

"My, my, my. What could your boss have done to inspire such loyalty?" Rick inquired with insincere amazement.

Cobarde's scowl deepened, not in anger at Rick, but in what seemed to be true disgruntled soul-searching. Eventually, he reached what Rick called the 'bargaining stage'.

"You get me immunity and witness protection, and I'll give you the skinny on my boss."

Rick was more than happy to wipe that smug grin off the bastard's face with the cold hard truth: "The only protection you're going to get is from my bosses – the woman you sent into early labor and her husband. So spill."

It never ceased to amaze him at how well putting the Fear of Carter-and-her-Husband into these dirt-bags worked. But it did.

Cobarde blanched even more and then began tripping over himself to tell his story.

~.~

 **Transcript of Interrogation # LC4.5.1955.2300.A:**

LC: _"Well, like I said, we was sent to escort the lady for a chat."_

RR: _"Funny, any time I have been sent to 'escort a lady', I have never felt the need to shoot her dog."_

LC: _"It was just a tranq!"_

RR: _"Uh-huh."_

LC: _"Erm, anyways, Rusty took the back door and I took the front. Standard procedure, even though we expected to find a pregnant British lady sipping tea, eating chocolate, and knitting baby booties or whatnot. But instead the crazy bi– "_

RR: _"Ahem."_

LC: _"-er, lady, had booby-trapped the place! There was this sticky crap all over the floors and – "_

RR: _"Flooring adhesive, I believe."_

LC: _"Whatever. Our boots stuck to it so we ditched 'em, and then our socks too. That really pissed off Rusty though. He was proud of his steel-toed boots, special-ordered and everything. But I didn't mind. Not until she knocked down that hallway side table behind her causing that big ugly-assed vase to fall and shatter all over the place."_

RR: _"Ha! That vase was from her mother-in-law. I just bet she was too happy to have a valid reason to break it."_

LC: _"Hey Agent Fuz-with-the-crush-on-his-boss-lady? Do you want this story or not?"_

RR: _"Er…go on."_

LC: _"So here we are, feet bleeding and skipping over puddles of sticky-shit and chasing this waddling mad-woman up some stairs, and she's throwing these flash-bangs and smoke bombs that are making our eyes water and burn. And I swear I nearly choked on my sneezes! Can you die from that shit? 'Cause even if this swelling goes down, I wouldn't be surprised if I am permanently blind."_

RR: _"'Flash-bangs and smoke bombs'?"_

LC: _"Yeah! From her briefcase. She was pulling them out and throwing them like some deranged Mary Poppins! Where did she get those things?"_

RR: _"From her friend, Howard Stark, I would imagine."_

LC: _"…Shhhiiiittt. Stark is her friend? Are you sure you can protect me?"_

RR: _"From him too. I have gotten quite good at it over the years."_

LC: _"Okay. Um, well, the she- lady managed to get into one of the upstairs rooms; which after a few moments of blindly stumbling around, we were able to find her in the office."_

RR: _"And by 'find her', you mean…?"_

LC: _"Yeah, I was the schmuck who happened to grab the doorknob that boss-lady crush of yours had superheated with a flaming hot chimney poker."_

RR: _"You know, you should consider yourself lucky."_

LC: _"LUCKY?!"_

RR: _"Lucky. If she wasn't so gun-safety conscious with her two year old daughter, that gun that she retrieved from the office safe would have been either on her person or in that Mary Poppins briefcase, and you might be toes up on a morgue slab right now."_

RR: _"Ah. I take it from that filthy look you are giving me, that your partner was the first one through the door?"_

LC: _"Yeah, he was like a mad idiot bull seeing red right then, if he could see at all, and he went barreling in. She blindsided him with her briefcase, finished punching in the safe code, grabbed the gun, and then shoots us both. She only winged me, but from that bloodthirsty look in her eyes I knew I was a goner if I didn't do as she said and tie myself up. And do you know what she did next?"_

RR: _"No. Do tell."_

LC: _"She, pretty as she pleases, calmly kicks our guns away from us into the hallway, and leaves! She left poor Rusty and me to bleed out, all so she could go and finish her damn phone call with that bloke. And when she called 911, we were like some chopped-liver afterthought."_

RR: _"That was entertaining and all, but I could have gotten most of that from the crime scene report. Who sent you? And why did they want to have a 'little chat' with Director Carter?"_

RR: _"Don't get cold feet on me now, Leo."_

LC: _"My brainless boss, Ray Bolger, sent Rusty and I, because our man behind the Iron Curtain thinks that your director is the Western bitch –_ _Ray's words not mine, I swear!_ _And he believes that she has their Dorothy."_

RR: _"Underwood?"_

LC: _"If that's the alias you prefer. And before you ask, all I know is that they want her, because she has something of theirs. And I don't have a damned clue what it is. It's above my pay grade."_

~A~

"Well shit," Jack's exhausted sounding voice sighed over the phone and then harshly into Rick's ear, before he melodramatically whined, "You know what those assholes who come up with cutesy code words will now start referring to Underwood's secret, the one Peggy has been trying to wheedle out of her, as?"

Rick could picture it, and it made him also tiredly groan, "No, they wouldn't…"

"How much do you want to bet it will be 'Ruby'?"

Rick did a mental head slap and cringed, saying, "Not even I would run books off that one." And then, he added, "Speaking of bets and names…what did you and the Director decide on? Michaela or Stephanie?"

"Michael."

"Umm…?" was all that he could manage in his confusion.

His friend tiredly but happily laughed, as he explained, "That's right, he's a boy. A healthy boy, and his mother is doing just fine too."

Rick Ramirez gave himself another mental slap as his boss yet again cost him the office pool. Really, when would he learn when it came to Carter?

Jack cut into his inner self-recriminations, ordering cheerfully, "Wrap up there and come on over. I need someone to smoke my victory cigar with. Peggy's so high on painkillers and that new baby euphoria that she won't mind."

~.~

Rick hung up and quickly went about his business of taking care of the details.

He took more care than usual in his arrangements with the Marshalls, so that they could be the ones to keep Leo and Rusty under lock up, because no matter how good events turned out, he was sure that Jack and the new Mama Bear would want to vent their ire for the danger Michael (and their little dog too) had been placed in.

Besides, Underwood was a far more suitable and less pathetic target than those goons ever could be.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thoughts?


	15. Marjie and Marge

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** Not really a prompt, but close enough for government work...

 _Friend: 'You know, aside from Cartson not happening or Jack bleeding out on the carpet at the end, I have one pet peeve with the show being canceled.'_

 _Me: 'Oh yeah?'_

 _Friend: 'Six words... Missed opportunity, Betty White, as Gam-Gam.'_

So yeah, in dedication to our now shared misery, I give you...

* * *

 **Marjie and Marge**

* * *

 _A Sunday Dinner, April 1947_

Mrs. Marjorie Glenn-Thompson, known to some as 'Marjie' and to others as 'Gam-Gam', exercised a tremendous amount of restraint and refrained from rolling her eyes. This was mostly done for the sake of her youngest daughter's girls, as her daughter Patrice was too right that they did not need any extra lessons in sass. However, if this ridiculous conversation continued and there was no more food available to keep her mouth occupied, she could guarantee that her efforts would be wasted.

"…I am not saying that I am not proud of you, Jack. I am! A director of an agency before you are 30 is fine achievement," her son's wife argued. "I am just saying that I don't understand how you have less time to be more social. I know some very nice girls, one of whom might catch your fancy and be the mother of my grandchildren someday, if you had time to give them a chance. I mean, I thought being promoted to director meant you could delegate all those onerous tasks that require overtime to someone else, doesn't it?"

Over Jack's weary "No, Mother, that is not how it works," her son barked, "Good grief, Helen! Grandchildren? He's got plenty of time for that sort of thing. He's a young buck. Now is the time for him to be focusing on his career, and continuing to impress men in the Justice Department like Vernon Masters."

At this, there was no amount food that could help her keep mum.

"If that's the kind of man he needs to impress, then, please, Helen, throw whatever airheaded twits you know at him," she interjected dryly.

"Mother!"

"Marjie!"

She dismissed their protestations with a scornful sniff and wave of her fork. At least Patrice had the good sense not to send the girls away. It would do them good to hear out a healthy (and well-reasoned, if she did say so herself) debate.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Helen. Yes, your 'nice young girls' are far more respectable and well-connected than the sort of floozies that Jack was dallying with for a while, but they are all just as absent of good common sense." Here she fixed her aging but still sharp eyes on her son, adding, "which only further perpetuates the attitude of Vernon Masters and his cronies – that the only thing women have earned the right to vote over is the color of the bathroom walls of Congress."

To Jack, she added half-apologetically, "Sorry, to talk about you in the third person, Jackie dear."

His blue eyes twinkled, despite being open wide with amazement at her temerity, as he murmured dismissively, "None taken."

An uncomfortable silence descended after her scathing diatribe, that was only interrupted by two things – the doorbell ringing and little Sandy, who is never good with uncomfortable silences, bellowing "I'll get it!" before bolting for the door.

Over Helen's disapproving sniffs, James' huffing sighs, and the nervous shifting of her daughter and still seated granddaughter Clara, her failing ears could catch the quiet murmuring of a female voice at the door.

Her curiosity did not have to wait for long to be satisfied, for while Sandy had remembered some of her Miss Manners training , she had not quite remembered it all. Instead of bellowing the name of their unexpected guest like a royal herald as she was wont to do, she had dragged the poor brunette woman by the hand into the room and right up to the table so that she could stage whisper: "Cousin Jack, she's some lady from your office."

"I can see that, Sandy," Jack said dryly, doing a remarkable job of keeping his expression bland and un-criticizing.

Out of the corner of her eye, Marjie could see that Patrice was turning three shades of red from either embarrassment or from holding in her laughter. It was rather difficult to tell. But Marjie's attention, much like everybody else's was focused entirely on the mystery office-woman and Jack.

Sensing James' and Helen's mounting annoyance at her intrusion into their Sunday dinner, the brunette interjected apologetically, "I am so sorry to barge in like this, Chief. But the only number that anyone at the office could locate was your home number, which you obviously could not answer."

Her grandson's brows furrowed in confusion, as he asked, "Today's your day off, Carter, just like mine. Why did they send you?"

This Ms. Carter's face went neutrally blank, as she answered, "I thought since it is a rather urgent matter, sir, that it would be faster for me to get you, than for me to explain how to find you or the contact information in your personnel file that would let them."

Now wasn't that telling? _She_ had access to his personnel file. _She_ knew his routine well enough to know where he was on a Sunday and his grandmother's address without the file. And _she_ felt confident enough in herself to judge when something was an 'urgent matter'.

And Jack did not bat at an eyelash at any of this. He did however sit up straighter and eagerly ask, "'Urgent matter'? Is it…?"

At her soft clearing of her throat, he checked himself and waved dismissively, "Quite right. You can fill me in in the car."

And as if he finally recalled that it was more than just the two of them, he glanced around the table and made introductions even as he was pushing away from the table in preparation of his departure. "Everyone, this is – er – _Miss_ Carter, my – er – _assistant_."

Jack was too busy making apologies for his hasty departure and everyone else was too busy expressing their reluctance to see him go, for anybody to notice the Carter woman's dissatisfaction with Jack's introduction. But Marjie noticed.

Clearly, this woman was more than an assistant, and she did not think it was because of some sort of romantic entanglement – at least not yet.

~A~

 _July 31st, 1947_

Marjie was grateful that she had talked Helen into checking in with the doctor and getting the facts before she saw her son in a hospital bed post-surgery from a gunshot wound to the chest.

She was grateful, not because he looked terrible. He didn't. Well, he did, but he looked as good as could be expected under the circumstances. From her vantage point near the nurses' station just outside of his room, she could see that he was paler than usual, with dark circles under his eyes, and was taking slow shallow breaths, but still he was sitting up and talking closely with that so-called 'assistant' of his.

And _that_ was why she was grateful – Helen would have barged in there and disrupted this interesting tableau.

But of course with that uncanny sense of always knowing when someone is watching him that her Jack had developed in the war, and somehow this Miss Carter had too, they both looked up and straight at her.

Without any shame for her spying, she smiled widely and marched in as fast as her ailing joints would allow her.

"You know, Jackie-dear, if your mother catches you working mere days after you have been at death's door, she'll finish your would-be assassin's job and add this pretty lady to the list." Not the most affectionate of greetings she knew, but she had warned him with love.

Jack knew it too, as he gaspingly chuckled, "Love you too, Gam-Gam."

"Oh don't worry, Mrs. Glenn-Thompson. I'm not letting him return back to work without a doctor's note. In fact, I was just reassuring him that his _best_ agent was on the case," the pretty brunette sweetly reassured her, all the while somehow managing to slip a coded dig at her grandson, judging by the scowl he shot her.

"My, the times have changed. Such authority an _assistant_ has these days," she dryly but pointedly observed.

Ms. Carter did not seem to take offense. (None was meant). She only flashed an enigmatic Mona Lisa smile and corrected evenly, "Not an assistant. But if you must know, one of my job titles has been British Liaison."

Marjie could tell (mostly from Jack's harrumphing snort, as that woman had quite the poker face) that there was more to her role at Jack's office than that, but she could also tell that if she were to try to call her on that, she would only get an even more enigmatic smile and evasive answer.

Before she could formulate a reply though, they all could hear Helen's sharp voice as she neared the room.

Miss 'British Liaison' Carter wished Marjie's grandson a swift recovery and bid her a good day before wisely making her escape.

Marjie almost wished she was young again so that she could join that confident woman in her hunt for whoever shot Jack. Almost (especially after sitting through a whole 20 minutes of Helen's fussing over him), but she knew for the sake of Jack's future, she needed to impart a bit of wisdom.

As soon as Helen went to get a cup of coffee, she sharply observed, "You know one day you are going to regret doing that."

He shot her a puzzled frown, "Regret doing what?"

"Regret introducing that girl as your assistant. One day you are going to be calling her your boss."

Her perspicacious prediction startled a wheezy bark of a laugh out of him, "Ha!", and she thought that would have been the end of it, but a few minutes later as he was drifting in and out of sleep, he softly admitted, "Not likely… but if any dame could…it would be her… if she doesn't… get herself killed …first."

"Mhmm…" she mused. She knew very little about the espionage world, but she had a gut feeling about this one, so she found herself smiling slyly and quietly challenging, "Wanna bet?"

And without hesitation, Jack cracked one eye open and grinned dopily, "You're on."

~A~

 _December 22nd, 1947, Saturday, sometime after 2am…_

Peggy sighed with exasperation, as Jack tumbled to the couch. As relieved as she was to no longer be lugging around his drunk-arse weight, she had intended to get him to his bed.

"You really didn't have to do this, Marge," he mumble-slurred. Or at least that is what she thought he had said. It had come out more like "Uje eely didnsh shaft-ter-do jis, 'arge."

She harrumphed as she pulled his desk's rubbish bin closer to the sofa, to be within spewing distance, and then with some amusement batted his useless hands aside to unlace his shoes.

"Jack, I did not waste months of my time hunting down your would-be assassin, only to have you stumble in the gutter and crack your thick skull open or for you to choke on your vomit. In fact, the only way you can die now is if I shoot you myself or perhaps strangle you. I haven't quite decided."

Instead of 'Ah, Marge, you do care' or some other such goading nonsense, her half-serious threat was met with the most obnoxious sounding of snores.

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed his now shoeless feet and turned him so that he laid on his side on the couch, his head near the rubbish bin. After she pulled the blanket down from the back of the sofa to drape over him, she stood there and wondered at the unfairness of it all, that even in this sorry state the infuriating man could look so… _endearing_ …and yes, even handsome.

Muttering over this injustice and over his inability to hold his liquor like had boasted of earlier this evening during Ramirez's impromptu "Ding, dong, Jack's Assassin is Dead" party, she hunted around for his bottle of aspirin that he would surely need in the morning. When it wasn't in the logical place of the bathroom medicine cabinet, she went into the kitchenette and looked through his cabinets and drawers near his coffee pot.

 _Ring! Ring!_

She didn't even stop to think at who could be calling at this late hour or even if she should be answering Jack's home phone. It wasn't even that she didn't want Jack to wake up. She just picked up the phone out of pure habit.

Before the person on the other end could notice her hesitant silence (after realizing her mistake), a thin reedy voice chided, "Jackie-dear, I am sorry to call at this hour, but since you didn't ring up here like you said you would and didn't answer my subsequent earlier calls, I figured this would be the best and only time I could reach you."

When Peggy's hesitant silence dragged on even further, his grandmother prompted with a quavering voice, "Hello?"

Peggy's embarrassed and whiskey-fogged mind finally kicked into gear and she regained the use of her tongue, saying, "Hello, Mrs. Glenn-Thompson. I am sorry, but Jackie – _Jack_ – is asleep right now."

"Asleep? And you are?" Gam-Gam interrogated sharply.

Flashing back to her days spent in the Headmistress's office, she cleared her throat nervously, before hastily explaining, "Er, this is Peggy, Peggy Carter. I brought Jack back to his flat, er, apartment after the party." And just so she could emphasize that the party and their socializing was office-related, and because she thought that the woman would appreciate the news, she added, "You'll be pleased to hear that we got the man who tried to kill your grandson."

Jack had shot the man himself, while she wrestled and then cuffed the bitch who had hired him – the real _M._ _Cartíer_ who participated in the massacre. She would now face the Nuremburg court for her many war crimes.

Her disclosure thawed his grandmother's attitude towards her considerably.

"Why, hello, Ms. Carter! That is good news," she enthused happily. "I know much of what Jack does is classified, but it does ease the mind to hear that. Thank you!"

"You're welc– "

"And I suppose, as you included yourself in that," she continued over her, "that you had some part in that."

"Well, er – "

"Now don't be modest, dear, and don't worry about me pressing you for details. I just need to know how I can repay you."

"Oh, I'm just doing my job, ma'am. You don't – "

"Nonsense! His family and I worry so about him, but it is such a comfort to know at least one competent person is out there looking after him," and then before Peggy could find some way to finish her protest, the woman chirped excitedly, "Oh, I know! Are you doing anything for the holidays? Do you have family on this side of the pond? Or plans to go see your family in England?"

"Um, no," she blurted wistfully. It appeared she too couldn't hold her liquor as well as she thought, if it was indeed the alcohol loosening her tongue so and not the force of this woman's personality.

She had had plans with Daniel to spend it with his family, but after he ended their relationship, sensing that he was no longer competing just with Steve's ghost for her affection, that was no longer an option.

Howard and the Jarvises were in Monte Carlo, and she had yet had a chance to see Angie to see if she was still welcome to crash her family's festivities.

She apparently still had enough wits in her head not to blurt all of this out and only added, "No family here, and I can't really afford tickets to London."

"Well, in that case, come up here with Jack on Christmas Eve. We always have enough room for one more guest, and it is the least we can do after all of you have done, dearie."

As she could tell this woman would not take 'no' for an answer and she could not find a polite way of doing so, Peggy found herself accepting.

Eventually, she was able to hang up, but only after promising to have Jack call her first thing in the morning.

Staring at the receiver and then staring at Jack, she said the only word that came to mind:

"Bugger."

~.~

 _Mid Saturday morning…_

Jack woke with a splitting headache, a horrible taste in his mouth, and a crick in his neck. If his fuzzy brain could form thoughts, it would have been full of self-recriminations for over-indulging, not getting to bed, for letting Carter …

At this, he blearily cracked open one eye to look around.

He was somewhat disappointed that she hadn't stuck around to nurse him (Ha! Now wasn't that a ridiculous fantasy), but he was more than relieved that she wasn't standing or sitting there gloating over his sorry assed state.

He couldn't help but smile a smug grin of satisfaction though, when he saw that she had left him his bottle of aspirin next to a glass of water. (See? She did too care.)

After swallowing two pills in a giant gulp of water, he braved trying to focus on the note on his coffee table.

 _Jack,_

 _Your grandmother called last night._

 _She wants you to call her A.S.A.P._

 _Call her_ _, as I am not going to incur her wrath,_

 _Because she thinks that I did not pass on the message._

 _~ Peggy_

 _P.S. – She invited me to spend the hols with you._

Well, shit.


	16. Meet the Thompsons

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** part 2 of my double-shot of Gam-Gam as well as my response to an old request to meet more of Jack's family. Enjoy.

* * *

 **Marjie and Marge II:**

 **Meet the Thompsons**

* * *

 _Sunday evening, December 24th, 1947_

When Jack put the car into park just outside of his family's house, Peggy saw that it was a lit and merry and full of bustling festive people – far more than she had expected for a family only gathering.

Jack must have seen the look on her face because he said, "If this is going to be too awkward, you can head down the street, make a right, and a few blocks from there is a great place to grab a taxi to the train station. I don't think anyone has seen us yet."

She didn't need to see his twinkling blue eyes to tell that he was goading her. As if she would run away from a challenge like that.

"If you're worried that this is going to be too awkward, you should have convinced your grandmother that it was unsuitable for a Chief to bring an underling home for Christmas," she replied archly.

He scoffed. His warm wet breath frosting the rapidly cooling air in the car now that the engine was turned off, as he retorted, "Don't tell me that within that 5 minute conversation with Gam-Gam that you couldn't tell that she is the kind of woman you don't say 'no' to and that you just make sure that she never asks the question?"

When Peggy shifted in her seat, guilty as charged, he added with his own bit of archness, "Which is why all of this could have been avoided if you just hadn't answered my phone."

Ooh, that sent her blood to boiling and her sharp tongue lashed out before she could stop herself.

"Well, with over a year of instilling in me the habit of answering other people's phones, you have yourself only to blame for that," she retorted before shoving open her door and marching up the liberally salted sidewalk towards the house.

"Wait! Peggy! Don't be like that!" he hissed after her before shutting his own car door and racing around the mailbox to catch up with her. When he did, he grabbed her elbow to slow her down.

"Why not?" she hissed back. "I'm sure if you had your way, I would no longer be the agent that is the thorn in your side but your _assistant_."

He reeled back from her as if she had slapped him, and then he protested, "Good lord, no! I wouldn't, Peggy."

At her raised eyebrow, he shot her sheepish grin, "Well, it would be a hell of a lot easier, and I would make you my _office manager_ , not assistant."

After he saw that his attempt at humor fell as flat as a lead balloon, he hastily and more earnestly continued, "But I am adaptable. You'll have noticed that since I became Chief, that I have not once asked you to answer any phones? File? Make coffee? Do a lunch run?"

She nodded, warily, not sure where this was going, but Jack Thompson always had a zinger.

"So if I can adapt, so can you," he declared, and as if that bit of pompousness was not enough, he then leaned down with his I-am-Boss aura and ordered brusquely, "So _don't_ answer my goddamn phone again, Carter."

Before she could form a proper reply or wipe that smug look off his face, the door swung open and that thin reedy voice which belonged to his Gam-Gam declared, "If you two are done arguing like an old married couple, come inside. It's freezing out there."

~.~

Jack's family really was this big.

While Jack was an only child, his father hadn't been. He had two older sisters and two younger sisters, poor chap; and they had brought all their husbands and children, and some of them had brought their spouses and children too. All except for Patrice whose husband had died in the war, that is.

It really hadn't been as awkward with them as she and Jack had expected it to be.

When asked how she knew Jack, they stuck to her line that she was the agency's British Liaison. It was an appropriately vague title, wouldn't raise any eyebrows, and made sense with her accent. Jack had told her on the way up here that while he would have been prepared to let everyone know that she was an agent and one of his best if she wanted to, he preferred to have her as 'the ace up my sleeve.' She had no idea if that was his slick justification or not, but she agreed that she was a more effective agent of an intelligence organization if fewer people knew about her.

And as for why she, out of all the other S.S.R. colleagues, had been invited to a family gathering, they stuck to the truth. And no one seemed to think it was a lame cover story for a boss-subordinate secret love affair, like she had dreaded, as apparently it was common practice for Gam-Gam to take in lost chicks, especially on the holidays.

The only hitch in this plan is that they had not included his grandmother in it. When she overheard their explanation, she piped up, "I didn't pity the girl. No, I was trying to convey my gratitude for her help in catching the man who shot Jack."

When all eyes turned to fix on them, Jack at least had enough composure to maintain a poker face and enough grace not to resort to dismissing this with some patronizing comment of _"she's a woman, so it wasn't that much, Gam-Gam"_.

After a moment's hesitation in which she realized that he was leaving it to her, she demurely stated, "Oh, some of my contacts back from when I worked in the S.O.E. did a few favors for me and turned up some information that led to his capture."

This was partially true. She had reached out to old colleagues both from her days in the S.O.E. and in the French Resistance, but she was certainly not going to reveal that _she_ had been the one to act on that information.

"You were one of the women in Churchill's Secret Army?" one of Jack's uncles asked in awe.

A little surprised that someone of Jack's family knew that much about the S.O.E., she hesitated and then continued with her act of being of someone of no consequence, admitting breezily, "Yes, the training for it reminded me of my boarding school days, and all for the sake of mostly sifting and sorting through tedious amounts of paperwork in between the Blitz bombing raids."

At the mention of the war with which everyone tried to forget, someone made some remark that resulted in changing the conversation to more pleasant matters. After that, the only personal questions she had to deal with were the usual: 'Where does your family live? What does your father do? Do you have a sweetheart?' There was also the occasional: 'What is it like working for Jack?' and because she mentioned boarding school, little Sandy and Clara asked her about that.

At one point, she managed to find herself alone, and she took advantage of it to watch and observe his family in peace.

Her hiding spot was near a display case which contained several family portraits spanning several decades, and she played a mental game of matching the faces of then to the faces of now.

She was in the middle of this mental exercise, when his Gam-Gam found her. With a twinkle in her eye, the little round woman said, "If you like old photos, I know of where there are some family albums from when Jack was a boy."

With an invitation like that, how could Peggy refuse?

At what must have been her cat-ate-the-canary grin, the woman held up a finger to her lips before making a 'follow me' gesture with her other hand. As soon as Peggy gave a surreptitious nod, she led the way in sneaking out of the party to an upstairs family den. Peggy was most impressed on how she managed to snag a plate of cookies and "rescue" a few mugs of mulled cider along the way.

When they entered the den, she handed Peggy the mugs and said, "Be a dear, Miss Carter, and spice that up with one of those," and she waved towards a tray of decanters on a shelf out of kid-reach, even for the tall Thompson children's reach.

She accepted the mugs, but stipulated, "If you call me, Peggy, ma'am."

Without missing a beat, the woman declared, "It's 'Gam-Gam' or 'Marjie' in this household, Peggy, and make it strong. Helen comes from a teetotaling family and made the eggnog the same for all ages."

Peggy did as she asked, spiking both their mugs with a large dose of bourbon, because being a good guest, she too had suffered a few sips of Helen's spiritless beverage before someone took pity on her and switched it out with coffee. Jack had just stood there and laughed while she had tried and miserably failed at a discreet shudder.

When she returned with the drinks, Marjie had a few albums spread out across the coffee table and patted the seat on the sofa next to her. Peggy did so, pleased to note the approving smile she got after the little woman sampled her beverage.

As soon as Peggy got comfortable and had a bite or two of their purloined cookies, Marjie began to peruse the photo albums with her.

There were the more formal family portraits and school portraits like downstairs, but there were also candid pictures, like that of toddler Jack playing tea with his auntie Patrice and of a young teenage Jack trapped in a head-lock of one of his older cousins. This latter was explained by his grandmother, "It was the only way Raymond could get the boy to hold still for the photo. At that age, he was a shy young thing. Well, shy for him, at least."

There were quite a few pictures of young Jack, and most were accompanied by tales that he probably wished his Gam-Gam would have taken to her grave. One of which was when she told Peggy of the summer of when 'wee Jack' had played detective, investigating and interrogating each of his cousins for who had stolen his tricycle, not knowing that his Gam-Gam had 'accidentally' ran over it so that she could buy him a 'big boy' bike and that it had taken her all summer to convince his parents to let her give it to him.

And while the image of 'wee Jack' giving his much older cousins the 'carrot and stick' lecture was just too rich, Peggy was sure that it would flash intrusively across her mind in her next argument with the vexing man, making it impossible to maintain her (no doubt) righteous fury.

But Marjorie also showed her pictures from her own past, including her women's suffragette days, along with her friends and older daughters. And while some of her stories were awe-inspiring and others bloody hilarious, what stuck out the most to her were Marjorie's comments about the men in her life.

"My first husband was a dreamer like me – not just women's right to vote but equality for all and in all areas. God bless his soul."

"My second husband was a Thompson man through-and-through. A realist and a cynic. Quick to tell you that your dreams were if not impossible, then highly improbable – _'the world is the way it is no matter how many protest marches you do'_."

"But while my son Jimmy – excuse me – _James_ Thompson would always add _'so why bother trying?'_ , Jonathan would say _'But then again, men like me told Edison that if the first hundred incandescent dew-dads did not work, it is ridiculous to expect the any of the next hundred to. And men like me said mankind will never and can never fly but dreamers like the Wright brothers proved them wrong, so what do men like me know? So you keep up the good fight, Marjie, and prove me wrong'._ "

Into the quiet that descended after this nostalgic speech, Peggy raised her mug in toast, declaring with sincere gratitude, "You did. Thank you."

Marjorie patted her hand and said wistfully, "I hope my Jack takes after his grandfather, at least somewhat."

"He does," and then because the woman fixed her with another one of her sharp-eyed gazes, Peggy amended with a smile, "On his good days, at least."

Marjorie continued to look at her appraisingly for several moments before raising her own glass in toast, saying, "Here is to many more good days then."

~A~

 _A little over a year later, New Year's Eve…_

"What are you doing tucked away in this corner again?"

Peggy glanced down at the white-haired woman who stood at her elbow and smiled self-deprecatingly, before asking, "To be honest?"

"That's generally a good policy to have, dear," Marjie chirped primly.

Peggy sighed and admitted, "I am dodging all of those uncles and cousins, male and female, who are trying to kiss me at midnight just to torture Jack. It might not be good for their health if they did."

Jack's grandmother blinked a few times at this, but then slowly mused, "While I have to admit Jack does have a temper, I don't think he'll do more than a shove and a toss and then maybe do a dramatic he-man kiss on your personage."

Peggy couldn't stop herself and snorted wryly, saying, "Oh, I don't doubt that either. I meant more of what I would do to them."

Marjie arched her silvery-white eyebrows.

"Erm…I have very quick and – uh – _forceful_ reflexes," Peggy defended sheepishly.

Again, there was that slow blink, before she was circumspectly observing, "I see…I suppose that comes in handy in your 'liaison-ing' line of work."

As Peggy had no idea how to reply to this without insulting the shrewd woman's intelligence, there was an awkward knowing silence for a bit, and then the older woman patted her arm, saying, "Well, dear, do keep in mind that it is in good fun and it's the idiots' way of welcoming you into the family."

Peggy looked down at her engagement ring, the one that once had been this woman's, and with a contented and grateful smile, she softly acknowledged, "I know, and none has been more welcoming than you."

"You loved him, flaws and Navy Crosses and all, and you made him see that there was more to him than either. So, my dear, it was my pleasure."

Peggy was saved from all the emotions that were threatening to well up through her tear ducts at this woman's kind words by everyone else's chanting: _"5…4…3…"_

And cousin Reggie, who had just discovered her hiding place, was hip-checked to the side, and Jack, her fiancé, was standing in front of her.

" _2…1…Hap-"_

And then her he-man was kissing her – and _not_ in a chaste, in front of your family and the young children kind of manner.

Quite distantly, Peggy could hear Marjorie cheerfully mutter, "Get a room."

~A~

 _A few years later…_

Jack had never seen his Marge look so dejected, not even when she had been arrested for treason.

She stood at one end of their living room – well, when she wasn't pacing – and ran her hands through her once carefully curled and pinned hair. She had been doing this ever since she had come home from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s new home base, somewhere out in New Jersey, and Jack did not know which was worse – hearing her announce that they 'needed to talk' or this erratic and bizarre, for Peggy at least, behavior.

Finally, before she drove him mad with anxiety, she heaved a forlorn sigh, muttering something about biting the bullet, and declared:

"I know you were hesitant about working for me at S.H.I.E.L.D. and how it will affect our marriage…but I don't think I can do this without you anymore, if at all."

Jack couldn't help it. He laughed.

It was only upon seeing his wife's hurt expression that he was able to regain control, and when he caught his breath, he hastily explained, "It's not funny, and I am sorry for laughing. It's just that here you are asking me to work for you, which inevitably means we will spend more time together, and here I was preparing myself for a break-up speech."

Peggy rolled her eyes, "You're a bloody idiot, Jack."

He grinned, "So you keep telling me. I am beginning to equate it with 'I love you'."

His wife gave a funny little shrug and had that funny little enigmatic smile of hers, (which wasn't quite a confession but as good as in Peggy's case), before her arms crossed and her foot began to tap, as she pointedly prompted,"So?"

He took in all her mixed signals, and he couldn't help himself. He played what he thought was his charming idiotic self and asked teasingly, "So what?"

His wife was not an idiot, bloody or otherwise. She knew exactly what he was doing, and while a part of her was exasperated with him and his antics, another part found it irresistibly endearing – especially the corners of her mouth.

He waited a few beats, and, yes, there it was the right corner was twitching upwards as she asked all irritable-yet-pleading like, "So will you come work for me at S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

Jack knew he should ask her as to the specifics of the job, talk with her about how she would deal with his already stated and valid concerns, and other such important details. But looking at her big brown eyes filled with such hope, he knew that it was far more important to give her his answer now and hammer out the details with her later – with one minor exception.

"So when am I expected to call you 'Madame Director'? Because if it's during our more _intimate_ times, then that is a little more kink than I usually go for, but I think I am pretty flexible."

And then his fierce and beautiful wife was launching herself at him – no doubt in order to test his claims of flexibility.

~.~

Later amidst their rumpled sheets, Jack whispered into the dark, "As this is a secret intelligence agency, no one who has any connections to the Department of Justice, like say… my family, will know that my new agency is led by wife, will they?"

"No…" Peggy said slowly, a little taken aback by his question. Glancing up from where her head lay on his chest, she asked, "Why? Are you worried about your father?"

"No," Jack replied with an immediate scoff, and even more dismissive sneer, "His definition of masculinity is rooted in a place of insecurity, but…"

Peggy waited. She had learned that Jack was more open to sharing when she didn't make him feel like he was being interrogated. Her patience was rewarded when after a reluctant pause, he admitted sheepishly, "I _am_ worried about what my Gam-Gam will say."

She sat up at this and exclaimed, "Your – _Marjie?_...But I thought…"

"Well yeah," Jack grunted. "Of course, she would be over the moon about it. But can you imagine what she would _say_?"

Over the moon would be putting it mildly.

"I can," she admitted, making no attempt to hide her smug grin, and then she slyly teased, "Would the reason you aren't thrilled at the idea is that it would be something along the lines of: _'I told you so…Now pay up, Jackie-dear'_?"

~A~

 _Next Sunday dinner…_

When Peggy and Jack greeted Marjorie next, his wife elbowed him in the side, and Jack (with much grumbling) pulled out his wallet and handed her a tenner.

The astute woman not only knew exactly what it was for, but was also wise enough to only offer a quiet congratulatory squeeze of Peggy's hand and a promise of some "bubbly" later.

Upon catching some of his grumbled mumblings, probably the _'This shouldn't count…'_ , his Gam-Gam sharply asked, "Now you're not going to try to welch on a bet with some lame excuse that you never would have made it if you hadn't been on pain meds, are you?"

"No!" he protested, and then in more hushed tones that were for their ears only, he argued, "But it shouldn't count, because she didn't become the boss at – er – _my club._ She just went and started her own, and I transferred –er – _memberships_ after she was already the boss there."

To Peggy, she inquired, "I take it he did this knowing of your new position?"

At her discreet nod of confirmation, his Gam-Gam observed with a pleased smile, "It must have been a good day then."

"Yes," his wife affirmed. Her smile was just as equally pleased as she added, "And when I first told him, he told me that he was 'glad' that I had 'proven him wrong'."

And while Jack did not like being out of the loop for most of their little exchange, he reveled in the knowledge that _he_ was the source of the sly smiles of pride on the faces of his two very favorite women.

Today he could agree with them that it was a very good day.


	17. Not Quite Capulets and Montagues

**Scenarios**

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 **A/N:** This update was brought to you by: **booboo12361015** , who requested _'a family reunion, like the Thompson side of the family and Peggy's side of the family and the friends of course for something big.'_

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 **Not Quite Capulets and Montagues**

**(but pretty darn close)**

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"So what's the emergency, English?"

"I need female reinforcements."

Her voice, and not her words, caught Angie's attention. It was not only distorted by the tinny quality of her telephone receiver, but it was tinged with more than a hint of desperation.

Trying to keep the mood light, she teased, "I thought that is what your battalion of agents is for, Director. What good are all of those men, if you have to fall back on little ol' me?"

"Ha! Don't sell yourself short. If I could persuade you from the life on the stage, I could reduce that battalion down to a troop or even a squadron and have it be just as efficacious, if not more so."

"Awe, shucks! You're making me blush," she quipped facetiously (if truthfully). Looking into the mirror, she was pleased to see that her cheeks were a faint rosy pink rather than a splotchy red. She noted that she also needed to work on her worried expression, because if English was going to drag out her explanation and request for a favor much longer, she was going to have permanent worry lines.

"Good. Because what I am about to propose will probably make you go white with horror. What I really need is female reinforcements in a more personal capacity."

Rolling her eyes, she prompted half-jokingly, "Okay. Just so you know I have the smelling salts on hand and a fainting couch nearby, so whatever it is that you are beating around the bush about, I am prepared for."

There were no smelling salts or fainting couch per se, but she did sit down on her vanity bench and made sure to have her flask of whiskey on hand.

Peggy let out a derisive snort, of either self-deprecation or of disbelief, before taking a deep audible breath and then blurting:

"Tomorrow, for Michael's christening, Jack's family is driving into town and mine are flying in."

"Oh dear. Both sets of in-laws?"

Angie shuddered a little bit in horror, as she recalled the last time the Carters and the Thompsons had interacted.

It had been for Peggy's and Jack's wedding, and her primary duty as maid of honor had been to keep them as stress free as possible, which meant that she had to run interference between the two families – or more accurately the bride's and groom's parents. Gam-Gam had been a dear.

Unlike Gam-Gam who had been warm and welcoming to the 'visitors across the Pond' and who wanted to know all about how the Carters met, fell in love, and how it was raising 'such a delightful go-getter of a girl', Mr. and Mrs. Thompson had been cool and oh-so-collected, like the society elites that they apparently very much wanted to be. When they had interacted with the Carters, their questions had resembled that of a couple interviewing a horse breeder on a mare's pedigree.

This was not to say that the Carters had not done their own bit of evaluating of Peggy's beaux and his family. However, their questions had been more along the lines of how Jack interacted with and treated their daughter – which the Thompsons had taken immediate offense to as _of course_ their son treated 'Margaret' with the _utmost_ respect.

The Carters had also wanted to know what interests the couple had shown to have in common aside from work. The immediate answer of 'whiskey' from Mr. Thompson, and Mrs. Thompson's contribution of 'No, I think she prefers bourbon, dear' had not been well received.

The true cat among the pigeons had been while looking for her 'hankie' Mrs. Carter had let slip within the Thompsons' hearing her worries that Peggy would 'bolt again'.

One couldn't tell if the Thompsons had feared that Peggy would, which would leave them with the shame of having their son jilted at the altar, or that they had wished she would, so that they could find a more suitable match.

It had not really surprised Angie that Peggy and Jack had 'spontaneously' decided to have Ellie christened when they were in England for a work-related trip, even if it meant that it was done by an Anglican minister rather than by Jack's buddy priest.

There must have been hell to pay for that little stunt, because, well, Angie couldn't imagine why else they wouldn't pull on encore performance in Michael's case.

"Yeah, so Jack had the brilliant idea of inviting Michael's godparents over as a sort of buffer," Peggy continued to explain, cutting into Angie's reverie.

When she didn't say anything (mostly because her brain was panicking with _'oh no, oh no, oh no, no-no-no, no you didn't!')_ , Peggy hastened to add, "I wasn't going to originally invite you as I did not want to put you through that torture. Violet and Daniel would have been enough. And I actually _want_ you to stick around to be his godmother."

And then with the word 'but' which always accompanied the word 'originally', she added, " _But…_ Violet called and said baby Jeremy was sick and so she would be staying home."

Angie had been having a hard enough time imagining both sets of in-laws in the same church yet again. But _this_? Both Carters and Thompsons in the modest sized house of Peggy's and Blondie's, with just her and Sousa alone as buffers?

Angie reached for her flask and took two hearty swigs, before declaring:

"You are going to owe me big, English."

Without hesitation Peggy wheedled, "Will getting you an invite to Howard's next party before he drops his latest Hollywood starlet be sufficient?"

Angie took a moment to seriously consider this.

Howard Stark was dating the most recent Rita Hayworth wannabe, instead of that smart friend of Jason Wilkes, Maria something. What that meant for her though was that there would be a lot of show biz people fluttering around the couple. People that she could network with.

Doing a favor for her best friend, even this kind of favor, was by far the smallest price she had to pay for an opportunity like that. So…

"Done."

~A~

It hadn't been as bad as she and Angie had predicted. Well, as Angie had so charmingly put it, it hadn't been as disastrous as a Capulet and Montague dinner might have been, but it had certainly been as awkward and as uncomfortable as a Darcy, Bingley, and Bennett family affair.

The evening had gotten off to a rough start when she had to call Jack to inform him that she and Daniel were going to be late.

 _"The both of you?"_

 _"Yes, and it's not my fault, I swear! If the prats over at the Bureau would quit turning everything into a territorial pissing contest…I mean really how can they think that 'suspected jewel thief' trumps 'caught red-handed spy'?"_

 _"Huh. Well, can you spare Sousa so that he can go and pick up your parents?"_

 _"No, because I don't think those chauvinistic bigots will deign to speak with me without a man present despite my experience, directorship title, and friendship with Howard. And I am absolutely certain they will refuse to speak with any man not a W.A.S.P."_

Jack had let out a very uncouth word that she hoped Ellie wasn't around to hear and repeat, especially in front of her in-laws, but whether she was there or not, Angie had been, because she had gotten onto the phone and interjected:

 _"Don't you worry about a thing, English. I can manage to hold down the fort here, while Jack goes and gets your parents."_

 _"Are you sure?"_

 _"Oh yeah, Mrs. Thompson is tickled pink with Michael, and Ellie has her grandfather wrapped around her little sticky fingers. I grew up with brothers and was trained by my mama on how to cook a feast and then some."_

 _"Oh, Angie, you are a lifesaver! I owe you so – "_

 _"Hell no, this is free of charge – well, at least on your part. Jack's Gam-Gam – excuse me, Marjie – is here and willing to dish the goods on your hubby. I will be getting so much blackmail material. It is almost a shame that he won't be here so that I can watch him blush and squirm."_

Having found a satisfactory solution (at least on her part, she was not so sure about Jack), She had returned to her political two-step finagling.

She had of course won, and so she and Daniel had been able to leave the Zodiac spy/suspected jewel thief to Ramirez's tender mercies.

They had arrived just as Jack had returned with her parents. During the hubbub of greeting everyone and getting her parents settled in (they were staying at their house, while Jack's family had elected to stay at a hotel with all of its amenities), Marjie had pulled her aside and offered some sage advice:

 _"Jimmy and Helen are more tolerable when not together. It has been my experience, my dear, that the best way is to divide and conquer."_

And so, with hers, Angie's, and Daniel's help she had managed to arrange it so that the males were at one end of the table and the females were at the other, with her in-laws being polar opposite from each other, when they all finally sat down for dinner.

It worked for the most part. Everyone was respectful of the etiquette rule to avoid discussing religion and politics. This was in part due to the disastrous results of her more progressive father and Jack's more conservative father forgetting the wisdom behind the rule at the rehearsal dinner. (That had been when she had come the closest to ignoring her mother's finer feelings and seriously contemplated eloping).

It was also largely due to her and Jack's insistence with both families to keep mum on their views of religion and their children. Before they had put their foot down on the subject, there had been quite a stir, when they had announced that Ellie and now Michael would be involved in both the local Catholic church and the local Anglican church, until they decided which they preferred. Of their parents, only her father had been the most supportive of this, declaring that it was 'a most democratic approach'. (As a result, he had also been told that if their children wished to convert to Judaism or declare themselves agnostic, their decision would be respected).

What the divide-and-conquer plan and the taboo-subjects list had failed to take into consideration were the topics of sports and holidays.

When her son had finally settled to suck contentedly on his pacifier in Gran-mum Carter's arms and her daughter was quietly amusing herself by mimicking her Nana Thompson's precise mannerisms, Peggy was able to eavesdrop on the men's conversation:

 _"So my Jack tells me that you and your son are a fan of pugilism."_

 _"Yes, and my daughter is too. If it wasn't for that, my Amanda would chalk our interest up to wanting to scratch the itch of our primitive male psyche. But now she leaves it at the door of our 'Americanism'."_

 _"And what do you say?"_

 _"I attribute it to satisfying the baser part of our human nature – our Mr. Hyde half, as it were."_

Before her father-in-law could bristle too much about being included among the 'primitive' males, Americans, or homo sapiens in general, Daniel cut in with his guileless curiosity, _"How about you, Mr. Thompson? What sports are you fan of?"_

 _"I enjoy playing a match of tennis or round of golf every now and then, but my_ _ **American**_ _sports of choice to follow are football and baseball."_

 _"Ah, yes, I do recall Jack telling us that he grew up a Yankees fan and now closely follows Joe DiMaggio's career."_

At this seemingly innocent comment of her father's, she discreetly tried to signal to Jack or Daniel to change the subject, but Daniel was at the wrong angle to see it, and they were both far too engrossed in their food, now that they must have felt that the topic was safe and they had an opportunity to enjoy the meal without the burden of needing to awkwardly carry the conversation.

If she could have found a way to interject herself into the discussion she would have, but it was far too late. Her father had already baited the hook too well, and her father-in-law had clearly bitten, when he asked:

 _"So growing up, did you favor a team?"_

 _"Oh, I always favored a good rugby match over the American version of football, but for baseball, since I grew up near Chicago, I loved the Cubs."_

 _"Loved?"_

 _"Oh, I still do, but lately I have become intrigued by young Jackie Robinson and the Brooklyn Dodgers."_

And there it was. Her father did so love to needle people and was quite skilled at the low blow, both verbal and physical. And she should know, as she had learned from the best. In this case, it was the Dodgers – the team that had recently ruined her father-in-law's beloved Yankees' World Series streak.

Jack's attention had been diverted from his steak and back to the conversation at the mention of the Team-that-Should-Not-Be-Named, and he glanced from the mischievous gleam in her father's eye to the stony face of his father's and then to her in horror.

She responded with a miniscule shrug and a look that clearly stated: _"You're on your own, sweetheart."_

It was a response that she would much later regret, as the pairing that was to be most feared was not the fathers however, and she had foolishly forgotten that.

Although each of the in-laws was equally stubborn and sharp-tongued (how else could she and Jack have turned out the way they did?), the mothers were sharp-clawed as well, especially when it came to defending family.

It was a trait in Helen that Peggy had come to admire, and yet in tonight's case, if her mother got her feathers ruffled and said something that would get Helen's back up, then there would be fireworks – which would potentially damage the fragile bond that she had begun to form with her mother-in-law whenever they teamed up to defend and shield Jack from his father's more cutting remarks.

With this catastrophic disaster in mind, Peggy had thought she was preparing herself for the worst. But what little did she know.

Much to her growing chagrin and everyone else's amusement, the mama bears had bonded over that very thing – being mothers.

And it seemed that they agreed on _everything_.

From what kind of books should be read to little girls (not the biography of Annie Oakley apparently) to the proper way to change a boy's nappy.

There were comments like:

 _"Oh Helen, I do believe you are right. Ellie is just about the age I started learning to play the piano. If I could have gotten Peggy to sit still long enough…"_

And:

 _"Well, Amanda, I concur about this new formula product the adverts are raving all about. It just doesn't seem to be healthy. I mean, it isn't natural…I mean no offense to you, Margaret, I know that it allows you to be at work, but there are those pump devices too…"_

She was rescued from hearing about what specific traits that make a competent nanny (qualities that Rose's cousin Barb distinctly seemed to lack, but which had never posed a problem for her or Jack), when Angie mercifully invited them to join in with her and Gam-Gam's conversation, commenting:

"So, Mrs. Carter, Peggy tells me that she never dressed up for Halloween as a little girl. That it wasn't a thing over in jolly ol' England."

It took her mother a moment to recover from this abrupt change of topic, apparently having tuned out the holiday traditions discussion between Jack's eccentric grandmother and Peggy's equally eccentric friend. Eventually, however, she answered the implied question, "Well no, the boys and Peggy did not dress up, but we did give them treats, the kind that could be roasted over our little neighborhood's bonfire, and let them eat themselves sick while watching the fireworks."

"That's for Guy Fawkes day, not Halloween right? When people are burning effigies of the Pope?" Gam-Gam asked curiously, but with perhaps more sharpness that she intended to.

Her mother caught it however, and said as diplomatically as was possible for her, " _And_ the man who attempted to blow up Parliament all those years ago. But we didn't let the children do something so macabre as that."

Before they could get caught up in all the political and religious reasons why not, Angie intervened yet again.

"Well, I think it's a pity that Peggy missed out on running around in costumes. I think she would have been a natural, just like me. Growing up, I was the most convincing Queen of Hearts in the neighborhood. All of the little Alices ran the other direction, afraid that my brothers would follow through on my orders to chop off their heads."

Nobody quite knew how to respond to this, but Helen rose to the occasion and shared with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, "When Jack was a boy, he insisted on being a 'Wild West Sheriff' three years in a row when he went out trick-or-treating. I should have known then that he would end up in some form of law enforcement or other."

Little Ellie, who had been growing ever increasingly bored with the conversation and had been amusing herself with making a volcano out of her mash potatoes and gravy, perked up at these latest remarks, and she now declared, "Twick-o-tweating'? I am goin' twick-o-tweatin'!"

"You are, pumpkin?" her mother asked with dramatic interest. "And what are you going as?"

Not to have her granddaughter's attention favor Gran-mum over herself, Nana Helen interjected, "Are you going to be a princess like Snow White or Cinderella?"

"Noooo," Ellie answered slowly, reveling in the attention and dramatically making a disgusted face, before beaming proudly and declaring, "I's t'inking about bein' a nurse like Auntie Vi or a science lady like Miss Maria or Wonder Woman like Mama."

Sensing a bit of mischief, Gam-Gam impishly asked, "Why those three, sweetie?"

And then in her clear high sweet voice so that the whole table could hear, her daughter announced: "'Cos Daddy says they're ball-busting, which makes them the scariest people he knows."

All conversations stopped. All three of the other men looked at Jack in commiserated sympathy, while yet leaning away as if they were afraid of being caught in the crossfire. For whether they took offense at Jack's use of the phrase 'ball-busting' to describe a woman, that he had done so in Ellie's hearing, or that they were not included in that list, the end result was the same.

As one Jack's grandmother, mother, and mother-in-law looked down the table and fixed their cool, stern, and terrifying gazes upon Jack, and he, the poor bugger, froze, staring back like the proverbial deer suddenly caught in the headlights.

Out of the corner of Peggy's eye (which was tearing up from suppressed laughter), she caught Angie doing her own sly version of a side-glance at her.

The look clearly said, _"Oh Shakespeare, how I dearly love my goddaughter."_


	18. Soul Searching

**Scenarios**

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 **A/N:** Apparently, my Muse has decided its time to catch up on a backlog of prompts. So stay tuned for more.

This prompt is from **shepweir always** : _'_ _I would like to request an introspection on what Jack thought of those telling words: YOU ARE A GOOD MAN JACK'_

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 **Soul Searching**

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 _"You're a good man, Jack. I know that."_

Upon hearing those words, he had responded like he would have to any dame who had complimented or flattered him.

He gave her a gift.

Giving Peggy the key had, in part, been a peace offering for all the hell that he had put her through during the investigation. Giving her his piece to the puzzle of the Arena Club conspiracy had also been his way of letting her know that he saw her as his equal.

But if he was entirely honest with himself, it was also a knee jerk reaction. By diving into work mode, he could avoid asking her the one question that was plaguing him.

 _How the hell did she know he was a 'good man'?_

He knew he was a good agent. He hadn't gotten the Deputy position, which had led to his being Chief, just because of his Navy Cross or Vernon Masters' influence in the S.S.R. He had worked his ass off, never wanting to have that loathsome I-don't-deserve-this feeling ever again that he had towards himself when it came to his misbegotten medal.

Perhaps, that is why Carter irked him so. Her dogged persistence and I-don't-give-a-flying-fuck attitude about the Powers-That-Be's opinion of her made him feel like that again. It made him wonder if he was a lesser agent because he did care.

He knew that he was a smart man. Everyone from his Gam-Gam to his parents to his teachers and professors had always praised him for being a 'bright boy', 'clever lad', or an 'intelligent young man'.

But had he ever been called 'good'? As a person, and not just an agent, soldier, or student? He couldn't seem to recall.

Dear God, listen to him shrinking himself. But he couldn't seem to stop.

He thought about it while he was writing up his report, while he was drinking himself to sleep to forget the betrayed look on Masters' face, and while he was packing and on the phone with Sousa. He had even been thinking about it while the blood was draining from him and on to the carpeted hotel room floor. He had briefly wondered if St. Peter the Apostle and Heaven's Gatekeeper was going to share her opinion.

But the real million dollar question was:

 _Why in the world had (or does) Peggy Carter's opinion of him matter more to him than St. Peter's, or for that matter, anyone else's?_

And the ten million dollar question was:

 _Am I brave enough to find out?_


	19. The First Move

**Scenarios**

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 **A/N:**

 **shepweir always: _'_** _Also could I request another scenario where Jack is trying to get the nerve up to ask Peggy out and she beats him to the punch line?'_

Yes, **shepweir always** , yes, you may. (And thank you for all the fun prompts!)

Hope you all enjoy!

* * *

 **The First Move**

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"I am surprised to see you back in New York so soon. I thought for sure that I would be signing off on yet another extended leave request while you were in L.A.," Jack announced, as he slid into the booth across from Peggy at the Automat.

When he was Deputy Chief, the only time he had ever deigned the establishment with his presence had been when he was attempting to arrest Peggy and had gotten cold-cocked knocked out in its back alley for his pains. But after working closely with Peggy on the hunt for Underwood and then for his would-be assassin, it had become his go-to 'diner' as well.

Tonight, he was picking up his customary Philly Cheese Steak sandwich and cherry pie, when he had unexpectedly stumbled upon her nursing her cup of tea and scanning the evening papers at one of its booths, instead of canoodling with Sousa on some sunny beach somewhere back in L.A.

Without looking up from her papers, Peggy shook her dark curls and matter-of-factly declared, "No, I just went back to get my things and to see Howard and the Jarvises."

Everything about her response sent alarm bells off. No eye contact. No mention of Sousa. And more importantly, _no snark_.

Testing the waters, he asked softly (because it was a personal question) yet bluntly (because he didn't do touchy-feely all that well), "But not Sousa?"

Peggy's grip on her tea cup tightened, but all she responded with was a grunted, "No."

So many thoughts ran through his mind then, he wasn't immediately sure how to respond.

 _'Oh shit. If Sousa broke her heart and I have to deal with mopey Carter all over again…'_

 _'…Carter's single? Does that mean...? No, you ass. What makes you think you would ever / will ever…?'_

 _'…You are such a selfish bastard, Thompson. Peggy's in pain and here you are thinking only of how this affects you.'_

Finally, he decided that the best he could do for her was provide her some normalcy, so he drawled out, "Oh, that's too bad. I thought for sure you two kids were going to make it."

It worked, because her usual fire reignited, and she retorted hotly, "I hope you didn't lose too much money to Ramirez over that wager."

Although it was the reaction he had been aiming for, he couldn't quite stifle his wince at the harshness of her reply. Being the ever observant Peggy, she noticed it though. However, unlike the times before he had gotten shot when she would have chalked his reaction up to 'playing innocent', she realized that he wasn't always the bastard he portrayed himself to be. She gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"Oh sorry, that was a little uncalled for," she admitted with an apologetic grimace. "It's just a sore subject."

"A little uncalled for, yeah," he acknowledged and then dismissed with a shrug, before casually offering, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

His out of character offer caused Peggy to eye him sharply.

And for good reason too. He didn't do the touchy-feely, but he also didn't let any of his men screw with the emotions of his best agent. As her chief, that was his prerogative.

But he also needed to know the facts before he chewed out his fellow chief. (Or at least, that was how he justified his interrogation plans to himself.)

"If I don't, are you going to try to weasel it out of one Rose's switchboard ladies?"

"Probably," he grinned unabashedly.

Peggy gave a short huff of half-irritation, half-amusement and a long sigh of resignation, before morosely declaring, "Well, the short and bittersweet of it is – he got tired of waiting for me to wrap up the case."

"Which one? Who shot me? The Zodiac doomsday machine? Or the Arena Club cluster-fuck?" he asked confusedly. Silently, he prayed it wasn't his shooter's case, because as much as he was jealous of Sousa for getting their girl, he did not want Peggy's current unhappiness to be because of him.

Much to his relief, Peggy replied with a dismissive shrug, "Any of them."

At his more/less selfless 'I am all-ears' expression, she continued, "He said that he realized that there was always going to be another case and that he did not want to end up being like Mrs. Dooley."

"The Chief's wife? What does she got to - ?"

"He meant that he was afraid that if we got married, he would be the one waiting up all night wondering if I was ever coming home and that one day I wouldn't and he would be a widower with kids to raise on his own," she explained, sounding as if she understood.

In a way, he kind of did too, but still…

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

Their conversation descended into silence then; she, to fiddle with her tea cup, and he, to pick slowly at his pie. Each of them lost to their thoughts.

He had no idea what she was contemplating, but he was at war with himself.

 _'Is it too_ _dick-ish of me to ask her out now, right after a break up like that? What's the good guy protocol for something like this?'_

 _'Protocol? Who cares?! If you wait too much longer, Jackie-boy, there is gonna be another Jason Wilkes or Daniel Sousa to fill the void, or worse – a Steve Rogers. And then, where will you be?'_ – so argued the voice that sounded very much like his Gam-Gam.

He opened his mouth half a dozen times to hint at the possibility, but always chickened out and popped in another syrupy cherry bite instead.

 _'Good God, did Captain America have this much trouble getting a date with Carter?'_

He was nearly half way through his slice of pie, when Peggy cut into his self-recriminations with:

"Jack, not that I can say that this has been fun, but could we do this another time? Like somewhere where the food isn't served by vending machines?"

Jack could only stare at her flabbergasted.

Eventually, he choked out, "Like for dinner? Like a _date_?"

Peggy kindly didn't laugh at him and (even blushed a little), as she confirmed softly, "Yeah, Jack, like a date," and then she added with a self-deprecatingly smile, "And if you want to make it fair, you can talk about your most recent break-up too."

The sarcastic bastard part of himself wanted to retort 'Gee, thanks, Carter.' But he was far too flummoxed to voice it or anything else.

How the hell was he going to live it down that she had made the first move?

He gave himself a mental slap. Who cared? This was effing Peggy Carter, and she chose _him_.

Eventually, he was able to stifle his inner infatuated-school-boy who wanted to dance and sing about like some musical idiot and teasingly drawl out, "You know, Marge, it's typically the guy who asks the girl out."

It was a true testament to how far they had come, that she didn't take offense and recognized that this was his way of saying 'yes'.

However, she wouldn't be Peggy Carter, if she didn't defend her gender norm role reversal.

With a sigh, she confessed, "I am tired of waiting too."

Not following, he arched his eyebrows questioningly.

She took him up on his genuine invitation to elaborate and quietly explained, "I left it to Steve to take the lead, and he didn't ask me until it was too late. I waited for Daniel, and he moved to L.A. for his career." With another one of her dismissive shrugs, she mused, "Perhaps, if I hadn't waited, then we could have found out sooner that we couldn't hack a long-distance relationship and wasted so much time."

Then, looking directly at him, she stoutly declared, "And I am tired of waiting. For some strange reason, I enjoy your company, and your boundless ambition understands my incessant drive. So…Do you – want to – do dinner – with me – sometime?"

Somehow, he was able to keep his cool and not shout _'Hell yes, Marge!'_ , and instead casually asked if she liked East Indian food.

Apparently, she did, and they arranged to meet up in SoHo Saturday night to try out the new restaurant that her friend Angie had recently been raving about.

As she was gathering her things up to get ready to leave, he switched into Chief Thompson-mode and asserted with a smirk, "Alright, Carter, I'll see you at the office tomorrow morning, where I fully expect you to make the Encryption Boys cry again because you've cracked the code in half an hour what is taking them 3 days and counting to figure out."

Peggy briefly paused in her sashay towards the door to toss over shoulder, "It's a cipher, Jack. And it will take me 20 minutes."

As he admired the sensual sway of her hips as she confidently exited out of the double doors, he could not help but think to himself:

 _'Peggy Carter, Destroyer of Male Egos everywhere. Thank God, mine is the size of Texas.'_


	20. Drunken Confessions

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** and the seedling for this story was brought to you by - **HoRnIe DeMoN: _'_** _Jack misses Peggy since she's gone to LA and confesses this after a few too many...'_

More angst than romance, but still full of Cartson.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Drunken Confessions**

* * *

"I was told I would find you here," Peggy declared as a way of greeting the tall blond man at the bar. The one the other pub patrons were giving a wide berth.

She wondered if he had just snarled at them with his usual acerbic viciousness, when he was licking his wounds, or if he had actually bitten someone.

When he said nothing to this, she added dryly, "I was hoping that Wallace and Ramirez would be wrong."

The Axe-hole was in no way the usual classy sort of establishment that her Chief typically deigned with his patronage. At the most, it could be said to be a 'cozy, homey hole-in-the-wall', and by the looks of it, it would even be a kindness to say that someone getting bitten there was just a 'typical Tuesday'. In the past, he had defended this haunt of his by declaring, 'It's rough around the edges, but it's clean, with cheap but good booze, and no one there expects you to be charming'.

It's 'rough edges' was not what she objected to though. No, what concerned her was that her boss only came here when he was _in a state_ , as her mother would have so delicately put it – not that he didn't have reason to be tonight of all nights. If she wasn't so worried for him, she would be doing her own wound-licking right about now.

She had been in town to give testimony along with Jack on one of their old cases, when the brother of the defendant had decided to storm the courthouse. Junior Agent Kipps, who had been there to give his Chief an update on a current case, had realized his intent and thrown himself at the man, wrestling him to the ground but not without getting shot in the gut first. They were told that he would survive, but not with the use of his legs.

"A pox on both Wally's and Ricky's houses," Jack cursed, as he finished nursing his whiskey.

"Why? Because they cared enough about you to make sure you didn't drink alone?" Peggy asked as she finished getting settled onto the stool next to him, clearing away the peanut shells from the faded happy hour menu.

"Hardly," Jack snorted. At her questioning gaze, he grudgingly admitted, "No, because they are more scared of you than me."

Peggy couldn't deny it. After her impressive display of kick-arse agent skills against the Washington boys at the Automat and all of her other bad guy takedowns since then, the veteran agents of the New York office branch had developed a healthy fear of her. She tried to hide her smile of satisfaction over this fact (her new office colleagues in L.A. had yet to reach this wise level of self-preservation), but she could see even through the distorted reflection of the bar's warped mirror that she was doing a poor job of it.

Jack ignored her 'too true' face and challenged with a sneer, "And if I hadn't been alone?"

Un-phased by his hostility, she coolly clarified, "If you mean, if you had been with a tall legged blonde?"

He shrugged and then leered, "Or a red-head."

She rolled her eyes at his obvious attempt to disconcert her 'lady-like sensibilities'. It must have slipped his booze-befuddled mind that one of her best friends was Howard Stark, the inventor genius who took the idea of ladies' man to a whole new level.

"I would have taken her picture. So that if you turned up missing or dead, I would have a lead to start with in my quest to find you or avenge you," she staunchly declared.

Jack's watery blue and bleary gaze fixed on her, searching her face for several moments as he slowly contemplated this. Finally, whatever he was searching for, he seemed to have found, because he gave a half-grunt, half-snort of acceptance before signaling to the grizzled-looking bartender for two more drinks, "A whiskey for me, and a bourbon for the dame here, Rodney."

When he indicated that her bourbon should be added to his tab, she objected, "I can pay for my own drink, Jack."

Jack placatingly patted her hand, "Of course, you can, Marge."

Before she could object to his familiarity, condescension, or annoying endearment, he added with smirk, " _And_ you're going to pay mine too on the next round."

She met his challenging stare, remembering what it felt like to have the loss of a junior agent on her soul, and refrained from commenting on his presumption or his method of choice in coping. He at least had stopped trying to run her off in order to drink alone.

Clinking her glass against his, she gamely declared, "Deal" and downed the hatch.

~A~

 _A few hours later…_

"You know I could have taken you to your apartment," Peggy dryly commented as she waited for Jack to find his office door key.

"This is closer," Jack grunted, before muttering darkly, "And 'sides, I have signed off on your paychecks. I know you make less than what a male agent of your seniority level does."

For a few moments, Peggy couldn't quite believe her ears. One, he was surprisingly coherent. He had been slurring his speech for the past half hour. And two, which was more significant, she wondered if she had gotten hit over the head again. However, instead of a dream filled with Broadway musical-style singing and dancing, she was hearing male-chauvinist Jack saying –

"Jack, are _you_ owning up to gender inequality?"

He quit wrestling with the door knob to glower at her, asserting defensively, "One, I never denied that it was there. I just thought it couldn't be fought. And two," his expression became a bit more sheepish as he admitted, "you're rubbing off on me…even when you aren't here."

And then to top off this humbling admission, he gave into the fact that at least in this schnockered state, his office door lock was smarter than him, and he surrendered his ring of keys to her.

She gratefully snatched it up to hide her consternation. Drunk Jack, Surly Jack, Smart-arsed and Smirking Jack, she knew how to deal with. This insightful, vulnerable version of Jack was a whole other kettle of fish.

While she searched for the right key, he lolled against his doorjamb and stared over at the desk that used to be hers and mused aloud:

"I thought it would be a relief having you gone. But it's just" (hiccup) "not the same." There was another less than dignified hiccup and then a faint leering grin as he added, "all _rubbing_ aside."

Not wanting to reward his crass joke with a response and not knowing how to respond to his backward compliment, she pretended not to have heard his muttered drunken musings, unlocked the door (finally), and pushed him into his office and towards the couch. Much to her relief, he didn't wait around for her answer but immediately drifted off into dream land.

She busied herself for a few minutes, puttering around, pulling off his shoes, getting him a glass of water and some aspirin for his morning hangover, and conveniently setting the garbage can at the end of the couch near his head, before feeling confident enough that he was okay to be left alone and calling it a night.

She was just turning off the desk light and heading for the door, when she heard his soft sleepy murmur of:

"Why is it, Marge, that while it feels like you still haunt the place, I miss you?"

She stared at him mouth agape, but he had drifted right off to sleep again, snoring none-so-gently away, the selfish bastard.

 _'Well, what the bloody hell was she to do with that?'_

~A~

 _A few months later…_

"So what do you say, Jack? Would you like to join me at S.H.I.E.L.D.? We'll be partners, fighting crime together like old times," Peggy wheedled, even as she casually leaned back in the café chair like she could not or would not give a damn one way or another.

Jack surprisingly did not comment on her mixed messages, but rather, he made a disgruntled scoffing sound at the back of his throat, before protesting, "It won't be the same."

More surprising was the hint of wistfulness in his words.

Peggy dropped the cool as a cucumber 'I am a professional woman' act and beamed at him like a mischievous schoolgirl preparing for her best prank yet, declaring eagerly: "No, it will be better."

Jack, being the jaded man he was, wasn't buying it however. He shot her a look that clearly said 'for you maybe, as you'll be the boss'.

Not at all discouraged, she continued with her sales pitch by pointing out with a coaxing, "Come on, you'll finally get to train the rookies like you always wanted to. _And…_ " she paused here for dramatic effect before sing-songing, "You'll have a bigger budg-et."

Jack's lips twitched with suppressed amusement, as if he thought her negotiating skills were – heaven forefend – _cute_. But all he did was arch an eyebrow and ask with skeptic disbelief:

"The way _I_ want to?"

While she shot him a knowing look (because he was clearly testing the boundaries of what could potentially be their new dynamic), a large part of her began to relax with relief (because he was clearly testing the boundaries of their relationship – just like he always did).

Settling into their familiar dance like she hadn't been 3,000 miles away for the past several months, she shrugged and modestly replied, "Yes, with the occasional _collaborative_ input from me. I have some experience with training people at Camp Lehigh after all."

Jack snorted at her humble brag, but did not object. Instead, he brazenly asked, "How _big_ a budget?"

It took every ounce of control she had not to smirk. If he was getting ready to haggle, then she had him hook, line, and sinker.

She had thought long and hard about the answer to that question. She knew how she would like to train her agents and what it would cost, and she had known how Jack had always wished he could train his agents and how often he had blamed the limited budget for the lack of preparedness that he believed killed his junior agents more than anything.

It was one of the few things that they had consistently agreed on over the years.

So without hesitation, she quickly wrote down the number she had in mind on her little notepad in front of her, tore off the slip of paper, and slid it across the table to him.

His reaction was the most entertaining thing she had seen in days – which was saying a lot since she had just spent the past weekend with Angie and her family.

His blue eyes, at first, squinted as he read the figure, and then they widened almost to the comical point of 'bugging out' so often depicted in cartoons.

His gaze flicked back and forth between the paper and her, even as his lips did their own convoluted contortions - pursing like they were about to let out a low impressed whistle but stopping halfway through as if he remembered that would be complimenting Howard Stark in some way, and then flowing back into his customary smirk.

Well, not quite customary. They did twitch a little again at the corners, as he declared gleefully:

"Sold."

Peggy grinned right back at him, even as she topped off their mugs of coffee with a few shots of bourbon from her personal flask.

He raised his mug to hers, but asked half-facetiously, "To what are we toasting? You're success at head-hunting, Madame Director? Or you being my boss, my dear Marge?"

Ignoring his mocking tone, she toasted happily, "To no more ghosts, partner."

And that's what the bloody hell she did with _that_.

* * *

 **A/N:** I realize that I repeatedly write out how Peggy asks Jack to join SHIELD with her, and my dear readers, I do apologize if you are getting bored, but I think that this is how I envision _Agent Carter_ should have ended - Peggy moving from SSR _Agent_ to SHIELD _Director_ , and bringing her boys along with her. So it's an itch my Muse just has to scratch.

Anywho, I hope you enjoyed : )


	21. Playing with Fire

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This prompt is from **shepweir always** who requested that I turn up the heat on the Cartson flirting from _Revenge of the Moniker_

So ladies and gents, I present to you Round 2...

* * *

 **Playing with Fire**

* * *

"Agent Ramirez, this is Agent Francine Wickers and Agent Pierre Roberts. They are the leads on the case."

Ramirez eyed Wickers and Roberts with interest as they entered his office's conference room. They were young, but not entirely fresh-faced. If Jack's and Carter's training program was even half of what his friend had hinted at, they wouldn't be. He was amused to see though that behind their almost Carter-like dignity, there was a hint of school boy/girl curiosity when they recognized his name.

What had Jack and Peggy been telling their trainees about him?

"Wickers, Roberts, this is Agent Rick Ramirez. You will be doing a joint op with him. Share everything that you have with him on Suzie Barker."

More than a bit surprised at the open invitation, he blurted, "Everything?"

Peggy smirked at him, as she proudly answered, "Yes, everything, _todo_ , _la totalidad_. We here at S.H.I.E.L.D. strive to avoid bureaucratic _mierda_."

Rick ignored her slight mocking and grinned, "You know, Carter, for months now you have been trying to get me to jump ship and join you. And that perk right there is what you should have led with."

That caught her by surprise. There was a slow speculative blink and then a hopeful query on her part, "Now that I have…?"

Never one to make promises that he couldn't keep, he replied honestly, "If you and your team can show me that it's true, I'll _consider_ giving up on my government pension plan."

Director Carter gave him a solemn nod, saying gracefully, "I'll leave you all to it then," before heading for the door. But not before shooting her agents a look that clearly stated that they better not let her down.

~.~

When he was sure that she was out of hearing distance (on the elevator and 3 floors down), he turned to his new partners and said, "Okay, you've got 5 minutes to ask me any questions that are non-case related before we get down to business."

Wickers and Roberts looked like they were going to deny wanting to act unprofessionally in any kind of way, so he headed them off with a stern, "I'd hate to report to my good friends that you were _distracted_ during an op, so let's just get it out of your systems, shall we?"

The pair of them looked at each other, and then without a mutual shrug or hem or haw (clearly partners on the same wavelength) they turned to him and Roberts asked:

"What's the deal with Thompson and the Director?"

He was a little offended that their burning curiosity had nothing to do with him, but then again it was _Jack and Peggy_ he was competing with.

He snorted, "Those two? Well, that's the oldest question in the books." At their confused gazes, he explained, "The S.S.R. betting pool books. There is still an open wager on them. There has been ever since they started their ridiculous endearment war."

"Endearment war?" Wickers asked, looking a little bit like she really didn't want to know how far her hero could fall.

And because, well, he thought the pair of them brought it on themselves (his friends for their ridiculousness and these two for their nosiness), he readily and gleefully explained.

"Yeah, he called her 'sweetheart' to pull her figurative pigtails and she retaliated with anything from 'sugar buns' to 'snookums'. Out of curiosity," he asked, "Why exactly do you ask?"

At this point, Wickers looked even more uncomfortable and Roberts grinned like an imp given a set of matchsticks and a box of firecrackers.

"Well, sir, it's gotten a lot more _heated_ since then."

~A~

 _Some time ago…_

"Jack, are you sure Wickers and Roberts are up for this? From what I've seen, they can't stand each other."

Jack cocked his head to side, as if eyeing her speculatively but really to subtly nod in the direction of their eavesdroppers, as he boastfully countered, "Not unlike us, Marge."

Peggy rolled her eyes and huffed irritably (and loudly enough to be heard), "'Us'? There has _never_ been an 'us', Jack."

"Well, no, we have never carved our initials within a heart on a tree," he admitted slowly with a drawl, before taunting, "but you can't deny that we have always had good chemistry."

"Chemistry?" she scoffed with far too much protest.

"Chemistry, Marge," he answered lowly and with a little bit of heat in his blue gaze.

Whether it was the huskiness of his voice or the heat in his gaze, either way suddenly Peggy Carter was looking at him like a tigress stalking her prey.

She was one minute his Director discussing her concerns about his trainees, an old colleague exchanging witty banter, and then the next, she was in his space, her voice pitched low, and breathing into his ear, "You mean, like this?"

And then her hand was slowly sliding up his crisp white shirt to the back of his neck, trailing her blood red nails in his scalp, and then pulling him down so that she can brush her lips against his.

She didn't stop there. Oh no, when Peggy Carter crosses a line, she boldly goes above and beyond.

Her lips moved from his to then trail up to his ear for a nibble, which caused him to give an involuntary groan, before he accepted her challenge. He tugged her tighter to him, and kissed her like no agent should kiss his boss and like a man who has been finally granted the one thing he has longed to do for years.

Peggy wasn't at all unresponsive. In fact, she grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and spun him around, shoving him against the filing cabinets, giving him as good as she got – tongue, teeth, and all.

But she was the one to break the kiss. With a slow step back and a brisk straightening of her clothes, she called out to the eavesdropping pair:

"And that is your lesson for the day in the art of seducing of your mark."

~A~

Ramirez, after hearing this story, of course, supported his friends, claiming that it 'most likely was just an object lesson – a sexually charged object lesson, but an object lesson nonetheless.'

He went on to add, "Listen, that's just Jack and Peggy – Agent Thompson and Director Carter to you. She skillfully uses her assets in the art of war, feminine wiles and weird unresolved chemistry and all, and he follows her lead. He's learned that when he doesn't back her play, bad things happen."

The two newly trained agents seemed to accept this, and they got down to the business of catching Suzie Barker.

But what no one else knew was what Jack was thinking as he watched his Director walk away.

 _'I am going to kill her. I am the one who has to face these rookies, not her. And, dear God, it is becoming harder and harder to be satisfied with the socialites Mother is throwing my way or the sisters/cousins/dames my buddies try to hook me up with. Especially, when all I am doing is constantly comparing them to the pistol of a woman that is my boss.'_

Although some might have been able to guess his line of thinking if they saw his face. Not so, if they saw Carter's triumphant-yet-professional half-smile.

No one would have been able to guess that while she confidently strode from the room, she was shaking on the inside.

 _'Get a hold of yourself, Peggy. He did not make your knees quake or your legs turn to jelly. Oh okay, maybe he did. But that had more to do with his technique than any 'spark of chemistry' or romantic nonsense on your part. And we are not going to give that self-satisfied git anymore to smirk about. No, we are not. So no more playing with fire, Director Margaret Elizabeth Carter.'_

But if anyone of their friends had known…

They would have been trapped in broom closet by a strategically placed crutch, sent on a one way trip to a privately owned island (by Stark) where a romantic bungalow would have been lovingly prepped by the Jarvises, and/or been forced to participate in a shotgun wedding by the Howling Commandos who would have guarded all the exits with all of their arsenal.

But much to their friends' disappointment, there never was a more stubborn un-couple.


	22. Mistletoe

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** in honor of the Christmas season, I give thee a fluffy holiday trope.

Thanks, **HoRnIe DeMoN** , for the prompt:

 _Jack and Peggy find themselves under the mistletoe ... perhaps at a party thrown by Howard or the SSR ... and it does not go unnoticed..._

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Mistletoe**

* * *

 _'Twas the night of the Christmas party, when all thro' the office,_

 _Not an agent was working, not even a lab-mouse;_

 _The mistletoe was hung with strategic care,_

 _In the hopes that there would be kissing action there;_

 _The juvenile had placed their bets,_

 _With visions of silver dollars,_

 _Or paperwork-free hours,_

 _Dancing through their heads…_

Much to the frustration of the visiting D.C. branch office agents Alec Finnegan and Ned Billingsby, Agent Carter had yet to be caught under any of the mistletoe with anyone, let alone with Chief Thompson.

There had been bets between him and Billingsby on which of the New York agents would be the most cornered under the three mistletoe by the switchboard girls, which of the Howling Commandos that were visiting Carter would be able to dodge 'switchboard lady of the smoky breath' all night, and if Carter and Thompson would actually kiss when caught under the mistletoe and who would be the first to initiate if they did.

He believed baby-faced Miller would be cornered while Romeo Rick would attempt to do the cornering, but his partner favored the suave Ramirez instead. Ned also went for the safer bet of Sam Sawyer with his swift and happy feet.

In regards to the Carter-Thompson wager, he argued that they wouldn't, because Carter was too stuck up for the trite ritual and the New York Chief was too scared of what she would do to if he tried. Billingsby believed that she would simply give him a dignified peck on the cheek.

But Carter had taken advantage of her seniority and never fetched anything from the break room herself, always managing to sweet talk a junior agent to do it for her, and thus avoided the one hanging in the doorway there.

And she was too smart to let herself be cornered by Doobin and his fellow lab-rats in the conference room, unlike her poor chief, who got suckered into some debate about the forensic significance of the discovery of double helices of DAN (or NDA?), and so had cleverly avoided the hemiparasitic plant hanging in the doorway there.

But with a little help of the law of averages, Murphy's Law, and whatever spiked punch the science geeks had concocted in there lab, a series of (unfortunate?) events occurred.

Tipsy and determined Helen of the Smoky Breath set her sights on Fisher, a married man, who dodged her but bumped into Thompson, an accident which placed him under the holiday berry, just as one of the junior agents attempted to avoid a more than tipsy lab-tech and nearly spilt his spiked punch on Carter, who managed to side-step the near wardrobe catastrophe by spinning into her Chief who still stood obliviously under the aforementioned berry.

Before Carter could gracefully retreat from her boss's personal space, someone (Wallace) let out a wolf-whistle, which was quickly followed by several catcalls and other encouraging noises from his equally intoxicated peers.

And in the moment of truth, was there blushing and stammering and hasty backing away from each other?

No.

Was there the rolling of the eyes, an acerbic comment from either, and a barely-there peck on the cheek like Billingsby predicted?

No.

Was there even the caving to social pressures on Thompson's part where he exchanged awkward 'do you mind?' and 'please don't knee my balls' looks with Carter before giving her a hurried chaste kiss?

No, of course not.

No, what did happen was Chief Jack Thompson boldly hauled ball-busting Agent Carter even closer to him so that they were intertwined like lovers' in a tango.

And then he dipped her into the most sensual public kiss Alec had ever seen.

It was long and deep. Their lips slid hungrily against one another. Their bodies were molded to each other. The hand that Thompson was not using to support her back was wrapped up in her hair, and her hands clung to him for all she was worth, her crimson nails digging into his navy jacket.

The idea of bone-of-my-bone and flesh-of-my-flesh took on a whole new meaning for a couple that was fully clothed.

And then just as abruptly, he swung her back up and onto her feet, distancing himself just enough that she could straighten her rumpled dress and mussed hair.

It didn't take the pair long to realize that the wolf-whistles and cat-calls had ceased.

For once disentangled, they were met with dead silence, as every S.S.R. employee waited with bated breath to see if the Howling Commandos would defend their favorite girl's honor.

To Alec's amusement, Sawyer and Pinkerton looked as if they were torn between waiting to see if Carter would take a bow for her amazing performance or wanting to make Jack Thompson wish he was born a eunuch.

Finally, into the stunned silence, Rick Ramirez exclaimed:

"Jesus, Jack! They say that I am the Romeo around here, but, _hombre_ , if I had pulled a stunt like that…"

"There would have been nothin' left for the Commandos here to work with!" one of the switchboard gals proudly jeered.

At this, there were several nods of agreement and an almost universal look of befuddlement that Jack wasn't on the receiving end of such treatment.

To this unspoken question, Carter replied, "He got a free pass because he put a ring on it."

And sure enough, on the ring finger of her upraised left hand there was a sparkling diamond circlet.

Over everyone's surprised and amazed shouts, Thompson could be heard to roguishly ask, "Just _'a'_ free pass?"

While Helen was looking at Carter's rock, the most intimidating of S.S.R. agents glanced over her shoulder to glower at the foolishly impudent man and pointedly assert:

" _Just one._ "

From his vantage point, Alec could see Jack nervously swallow and then give their audience (the ones not oohing over the ring) a look that was a combination of both sheepish _'Yeah I really do wanna marry that formidable dame'_ and a boastful _'And damn!_ _That's right, fellas,_ _ **I**_ _, Jack Thompson, am marrying that girl'_.

And clearly, Carter could see it too, because it was a look that earned him a far less steamy, but no less public kiss of affection.


	23. New Year's Eve?

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** this will perhaps be the first song fic that I have written in which I haven't tweaked the lyrics.

Thanks, **HoRnIe DeMoN** , for the prompt: _'...perhaps a follow up scenario where one asks the other out for New Year's eve! (inspired by this song: /watch?v=FIcuK7wW8bU)'_

Not a follow up to Mistletoe, but I hope you still enjoy : )

* * *

 **New Year's Eve?**

* * *

 _Maybe it's much too early in the game  
Aah, but I thought I'd ask you just the same  
What are you doing New Year's  
New Year's Eve?_

 _The first year…_

Agent Jack Thompson made himself quite comfy on the edge of Agent Carter's desk and quite nonchalantly asked, "So, Carter, whatcha doin' to ring in the New Year's? Any big plans?"

From beneath her eyelashes, she noticed that Daniel had stiffened at the question, but as his back was facing her, she could not tell if that was due to anxious curiosity (she knew that he had a crush on her, as she was not that much of an oblivious idiot when it came to romance) or if he was tensing at the question because Ray Krzeminski and Rick Ramirez were suddenly far too quiet – which meant there was probably a bet on this too. Her long lashes also hid her eye roll as she asked herself for the nth time: _'I mean, really don't they have better things to do?'_

What Peggy did not notice was Jack's trembling hands. His right was in his pocket, and his left was fiddling with various things on her desk, which she attributed to his natural state of obnoxious rather than nervous energy.

And why was Jack, Deputy Agent of the New York S.S.R. branch office, war hero, and all-around golden boy such a nervous wreck about asking Peggy Carter what her plans were for the holiday?

Because, for one, it was _Peggy Carter._

She had been Captain America's girl and so obviously had high standards for a fella to be her fella. Also, she had walked into the office with such a regal aura that he had yet found a way to approach her that did not earn him a very British _'I am not amused'_ scowl.

And for another, depending on her answer, he had no idea how he was going to finagle a way to be around her at midnight. It would be a perfectly semi-innocent opportunity for him to figure out if she tasted like cherries or his Gam-Gam's berry jam. He was dying to find out.

But it was not meant to be.

"I have to go save my roommate from New Rochelle."

His eyebrows went up as he quizzically asked, "'Save' her?"

Giving no indication that she regretted her interesting word choice, she blandly explained, "Yes, Colleen has been with her mother all week, and the only way her mother will let her return to the city on a night of 'debauchery' like this is if she is accompanied by a woman she trusts."

At this point, Krzeminski gave up the pretense that he was minding his own business and called out, "So, even a lady 20 miles away knows that you'd make the perfect dragon lady chaperone?"

Peggy fixed him with a cool stare and boldly retorted, "If by 'dragon lady chaperone', you mean that she knows that I will reign hell's fire on the head of any man who tries to give her daughter unwanted attention, then, yes, Ray, she knows that."

Jack laughed along with everyone else (sans Sousa), but not because he thought her declaration was laughable, but because he found the almost ferocious gleam in her dark brown eyes disconcerting and he had no other way to hide this brand of nervousness from her.

It was a reaction, however, that earned him her ire (her fierce glare turned his guts to ice) and cost him his finagling opportunity.

Well, perhaps, if Sousa continued to drag his other foot on making a move, there would be another chance next year.

~A~

 _Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight  
When it's exactly twelve o'clock that night  
Welcoming in the New Year  
New Year's Eve_

 _The next year…_

"So, Jack, any big plans to welcome in the New Year?"

Jack paused and did a quick double take.

He was not entirely certain that he had made it to the right desk. It had been another long, tedious, and grueling round in the interrogation room with yet another low life greasy sumbitch with bad breath. His taking a wrong turn in the bullpen and arriving at Carter's desk rather than his own made far more sense than her sitting prettily at his and asking _that_ question.

But nope. It was indeed his desk. His hat and his favorite autographed Yankees baseball was sitting there like it always did, and her bold red fedora was perched on her briefcase at her desk at the back.

And she was not only still sitting in his desk chair with a curious half-smile on her face, but she was also holding out a cup of warm coffee to him.

She apparently caught his wary expression, because she snorted drily and asserted, "It's not poisoned, _unless..._ you count your unholy amount of sugar cubes."

He ignored her dig and took a careful sip, nearly weeping with joy. It was just what he needed – hot sweet caffeine.

He took another sip, letting its restorative properties start to do their magic before he set the mug down in front of her and perched on the side of his desk. (It was not nearly as entertaining as it is when he does that to someone else's).

"What do you want, Carter?"

He had to give it to her. She was bold as brass and did not play coy. She just came right out and said it.

"I drew the short straw this year. Not only do I have to work the night shift tonight, but I also don't get to work it in this wonderfully heated building. I have to tale that sleaze of a lawyer that your boy in there named as the contact for the League of Aries Hitmen, while he hobnobs around town tonight."

"And you need me because?"

He asked this because Peggy usually preferred to go lone ranger. No partner, meant no one to slow her down.

"Because," she growled grudgingly, clearly annoyed that she had to admit that she needed anyone, "On a night like this, it will be more trouble than it is worth to be a single girl on her own, and while Fisher is on call, I don't want him to get into trouble with his wife for bailing out on their plans in order for him to 'play sugar-daddy to a sweet young thang like me'."

It was a good thing he had set his mug down, because if he had been mid-sip while she had been doing such a spot-on mimicry of Fisher's southern belle wife, he would have spewed its roasty goodness all over her creamy blouse.

It would have been helpful to hide his grimace though. He was sure that if Sousa had been here and not in L.A. that he would have been her first pick.

But he hadn't, and she was as perceptive as always and caught it.

Her shoulders sagged, and she sighed disappointedly, "You do have plans. Of course you do."

Perceptive, but as clueless as ever as well, that was his Marge.

"I do have plans, but none that can't be easily cancelled." He waved her nearly voiced protestations away, explaining resignedly, "Duty calls, and if I don't answer, our fearless yet autocratic leader will assign Fisher to go with you. And well, I don't want to start off the New Year arresting Fisher's wife because she killed Flynn."

They both glanced at the office door of Chief John Flynn, the Washington senior agent who had replaced Jack when he had not caught Dottie fast enough for the brass. They were both relieved to see that it was closed and that the man was still on the phone schmoozing some political bigwig in the Justice Department or House committee or whatever.

Jack was once again grateful for the fact that he was letting that perfect cup of coffee grow cold, because he could have sworn that he heard Peggy mutter darkly and only half-jokingly under her breath, _"She wouldn't be arrested if we helped her hide the body."_

~A~

 _Maybe I'm crazy to suppose  
I'd ever be the one you chose  
Out of a thousand invitations  
You received_

 _Later that night…_

"So… you never did tell me what your plans were."

Peggy mused aloud as they stood on a rooftop freezing their arses off while Don E. Klein wined and dined Broadway movers and shakers in the penthouse across the street. The building of the roof they were standing on was a few blocks away from Times Square. Their cover was supposed to be young lovers foolishly thinking it would be romantic to have a skyline view of the fireworks in just below freezing temperature weather.

She immediately regretted asking Jack again though, because barely were the words out of her mouth, when his smirk became even more irritating than usual as it spread across his smug face.

"Why, Marge, I didn't know that you were so _interested_ in me."

"Hardly," she snorted. "If anyone glancing out this way was to see us _not_ talking and looking far too interested in the penthouse across the street, our cover could be blown. So it is either this or one of Daniel's nieces' games like _I-Spy_ or something."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Jack looked both horrified at the idea that his social life seemed to have ranked as high for her as a children's game and at the fact that Daniel had wasted his alone time with her by playing children's games.

She was never going to let Jack know that she had been grateful that Daniel had never gotten the courage to take advantage of that alone time. She hadn't then nor did she know now how she felt about the idea of going on a date with her friend, and because he was her friend, it would have been a very awkward situation to be trapped in a car with him after attempting to explain that to him.

More importantly, however, she was never going to let her Deputy Chief know that she both did and didn't want to know what his social life was like.

After a very affected shudder of horror, Jack finally answered her question. "I was able to beg off from my mother's party to go meet up with some of my Navy buddies who are in town. We were going to go around-the-world pub-hopping."

While he explained their plans of going from an Irish pub to a Spanish cantina to a French bodega to a German beer garden to a Greek ouzeria to an Indian toddy bar to a Polynesian tiki bar to a Japanese izakaya and then back again to a good ol' N.Y.C. dive bar, her mind wandered not nearly so far and wide.

She found herself thinking about all of the eligible bachelorettes that would be disappointed by his absence and whom his determined-to-be-a-grandmother mother would continue to send his way, and she thought of all the women who would be at all those bars, ready and willing to outrageously flirt with handsome sailor-boys and charming and roguish war-heroes. Pretty women, in either set, who were content to be just wives and mothers. Or fun-loving, care-free women, who did not have to worry about their off-the-clock behaviors damaging their professional reputation.

She found herself being almost envious of these faceless, nameless women – for more than one uncomfortable reason.

Her inner-musings were interrupted by the sudden increase in uproar coming from Times Square, as the already tumultuous crowd began shouting out the countdown.

The commotion brought out the penthouse party-goers. Many of whom, including Don E. Klein and a man who looked suspiciously like a suspected Aries assassin, came out onto the balcony to watch the fireworks.

Knowing that these overly cautious men would not just be scanning the skyline for entertaining pyrotechnics, she drew closer to Jack and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Startled, Jack attempted to lean away as he began to ask, "Wh-what are – ?"

Peggy cocked her head to the side as if she was being coquettish, but more so to nod in the direction of their quarry and to hide her face from their view.

She also tightened her grip and drew him back to her, mingling her frosty white breath with his.

He barely had time to breathe out a comprehending "Oh" before she closed the distance and –

 _"TWO. ONE. HAP-!"_

And fireworks exploded.

Both in the starry sky and on her lips and in her guts and along every nerve ending she had.

The man could _kiss._

When they pulled apart, Jack might have thought that her murderous stare was meant to indicate that this had been a one-time, all business thing and that he was to keep all snarky comments to himself.

But if Peggy was honest with herself, it only partly did.

No, what she was really thinking was –

 _'Goddamn all his pretty women.'_

~A~

 _Aah, but in case I stand one little chance  
Here comes the jackpot question in advance  
What are you doing New Year's  
New Year's Eve?_

 _And the year after that…_

As soon as the phone's ringing ended, Jack cheerily asked, "So, Carter, what are you up to this fine New Year's Eve?"

There was brief hesitant pause as his Marge tried to ascertain if her caller was friend or foe, and then a surprised: "Jack! How the hell did you know that I was back from London?"

After the ringing in his ear produced by her startled shout had subsided, he teased, "I ran into one of your accomplices earlier today."

"Which one?" she promptly asked with a sigh of annoyance.

It amused him to no end that she did not deny that she had more than one, nor that she did not know which one of her law-bending friends had ratted her out to him.

"The weepy one."

He was pleased to hear her chuckle at this. It still irritated him to no end that he had been so easily fooled by Martinelli and that she enjoyed rubbing it in every time she saw him, but he would take a prick to his pride to hear that throaty laugh of hers any day.

"Funny that you ran into Angie today."

"Oh?" he inquired, bracing himself for something that not going to be 'funny' at all.

"Yeah, I ran into one of your minions."

Her teasing tone carried over the line, and he relaxed a little. Smirking, he leaned back in his desk chair and played along, echoing her earlier question: "Which one?"

"The chatty one."

Before he could point out that this didn't really narrow it down for him, she said, "I hear that you nobly volunteered to work the nightshift tonight so that Simmons could go be with his pregnant wife at the hospital – even though as the newly reinstated Chief you have the right to order one of your agents to work overtime."

And before he could make any kind of remark upon that, she continued, " _And_ I hear that you drew the short straw for the inevitable desperately needed stakeout for some smuggling op or other."

"Christ!" he cursed, wishing he had not closed his office's bullpen blinds, so that his 'minions' could best feel the full effect of his wrathful glare. She may be an agent, but that did not mean that his people could blab agency business just anywhere in public. "You weren't kidding when you said they were chatty."

She didn't gloat that she was able to weasel that information out of an agent just in a casual passing or at the fact that he had just admitted she was right. If he had been in her shoes, that was what he most likely would have done.

No, instead, she said quite out of the blue:

"So, yes, Jack, I'll work it with you. I do owe you one."

 _'Ha! If she still thought he was working tonight...'_ He crowed to himself. Now he knew who his Chatty Cathy was. Only one agent had left the room when he had pulled rank and assigned the onerous task to the two idiots who repeatedly got on his shit-list.

For some reason, the satisfaction he gained from figuring it out without Carter meaning him to, gave him the courage to voice the real reason for his call.

So rather smugly, he corrected her, "No, I am not calling for a stakeout-IOU, Peggy. I'm calling for – "

 _Take a deep breath. Here goes nothing..._

"A date."

There was a startled inhalation of breath and then a very long pause at the other end of the line.

And then finally a husky sigh of:

"I thought you would never ask."

* * *

 _Happy New Year!_


	24. The Ex-Factor

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** Because of **s** **hepweir always** 'request for a story _'where Peggy & Jack end up in England and Peggy has to go undercover with her ex; needless to say Jack is rather pissed off at the plan'_, I bring you a tale filled with barbs, thorns, and angsty feels, and just a wee bit of action.

Enjoy.

* * *

 **The Ex-Factor**

* * *

 _A London Hotel Room, 1947…_

"You did _what_?"

Peggy calmly went about touching up her make-up in the bathroom mirror and only merely glanced at Jack's fuming reflection as she crisply explained, "I met with Fred Wells. He's my contact at the home office. He can get us the information that we need to help find the man who shot you, which will lead us to why he and/or whoever hired him wanted that file back."

"I understand the plan, Peggy. I was there when we made it," he snapped. "What I don't understand is why you met with him by yourself and then agreed to go undercover with him _by yourself_."

"You did hear the part that he is the only one – ?"

"Who can get us the information we need? Yeah, I heard it," he interrupted, dismissing her reason with a wave his hand. "But I don't see how he is the only who can get us that info. You used to work with other Home Office gents. Why can't we – ?"

"Go to one of them? Because I don't know if I can trust them. I know Fred."

She kept her tone short and clipped, hoping that Jack would pick up on her need for that to be the end of the matter. But since when did Jack ever respect her privacy?

Clearly, now was not such a moment, as his response was a scoffing snort, before pressing the matter further like she was some perp in the interrogation room.

"Oh yeah? And can you trust that he'll hold up his end of the deal or watch your back? That he won't want some payback for being left practically at the altar by you?"

As annoyed as she was at his poking at her old wounds, she was determined not to respond emotionally. She had learned long ago that the best way to deal with Jack when he was opposing her plan of action was to live out the British maxim 'Keep Calm and Carry On'. So she stopped powdering her nose and began twisting her hair up, punctuating each of her dispassionately stated counterpoints with a jab of a bobby pin into her thick dark curls.

"Yes, I can. Fred is not like that." (jab) "Besides he can't be mad at me still. That was years ago." (jab) "He is a happily married man with a wife who can actually cook," (jab) "has no compulsions to express her contrary political opinions to his superiors," (jab) "and gave him two beautiful children." (jab) "In fact, I don't see the problem in helping him out with his dilemma so that he has a better than average chance of returning home to them tonight." (And jab).

Jack gave her reflection a long assessing look, before coolly accusing, "Your guilt is clouding your judgment, Peggy."

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. If anyone was to ask her, it was not because his assessment hit so close to home, but rather because he was questioning her professionalism.

Grinding her teeth, she retorted tersely, "It. Is. Not."

At this, Jack finally uncrossed his arms and moved from behind her to stand next to her - well, to obnoxiously lean against the wall next to her and re-cross his arms again so that he could glower at her directly.

More fool, he. She was a fraction of a breath away from letting loose with the bottle of hairspray that she was tightly gripping in her hand.

Her boss was not a complete idiot though. He had some sense to soften his tone, when he asked:

"Then why won't you let me come along for back-up?"

His gentled if still exasperated tone saved him – just barely.

Whirling to face him, she threw up her (free) hand in frustration and snapped, "Because you are American! If things go wrong, you need plausible deniability or else you could be charged as a spy."

"Whereas, you, with your dual citizenship, will – what? – 'only' be charged with treason?" Jack challenged her, because he _always_ does.

She rolled her eyes, as she explained, "That's why Fred will be there. He can vouch for me. Something he can't do if you are there too."

"And what happens when shit hits the fan and he bails – and he will bail, Marge. He is a coward, and you know it."

"What does _that_ mean?"

Jack shrugged his shoulder indifferently, as he coolly inquired, "Well, isn't that why you left him in the first place? He was averse to risking life and limb?"

Peggy stared at him incredulously. She couldn't believe that he had gone there. He was known for his low blows. But this? And how had he gotten the material for that sucker punch?

In this quagmire of emotional tumult, she was eventually able to voice the latter, growling out, "How the _bloody hell_ did you know that?"

"I dug it up while looking for dirt on you when Masters' was leading me around by the nose."

Somehow, even as he admitted to complicity in a plot to blackmail her into submission, he managed to look both sheepish and unapologetic. (There was a faint flush to his cheeks and a hunched-ness to his shoulders, even while he stared boldly into her eyes).

She supposed she should give him credit for feeling some guilt for his actions, but she suspected that it had more to do with his Masters-ordered dirt-digging expedition than it did with his current below the belt hit. And she even understand why he had no remorse for now using that information against her. He was scared for her, she knew that.

But goddamn it! She didn't ask him to be. She didn't want him to be. And she didn't care.

Especially since it was his actions the last time he was in London that led them to needing Fred's help in the first place!

With careful, controlled movements, she set aside the hairspray and spun on her heel to head for the main room, declaring with curt finality:

"We're done here. You don't get a say in this, Jack."

~A~

Jack had stared at Carter's ramrod straight and retreating back and knew that it was time to pull a page from her book – screw permission/authorization and go ahead and do whatever the hell he wanted anyways.

It was a good thing that he did too, because eventually, _just as he predicted_ , the shit hit the fan.

He had been sitting outside of some elite sort of gentlemen's club, which he had followed her to, pretending to be a wino enjoying his nth bottle of the day, while Carter and Freddy-boy attempted to do whatever uber-top secret stuff that he wasn't supposed to be privy to.

His bus stop bench provided him the excellent vantage point of being able to both see the front door and the side alley.

So he had been able to witness Freddy-boy barreling out the side-door (with package in hand but no Carter) straight for the waiting car at the other end of alley.

He also witnessed the coward wait only for the briefest of moments for Carter to make an appearance, and when she didn't, he saw him hastily give the order to the driver to get the hell out of there.

He hesitated for a brief moment, as he was not sure what to do. But he figured that he would not gain any intel if he remained outside, so he stood up and tipsily teetered his way through the front door, seemingly oblivious to the doorman's protestations.

Once inside he blinked owl-like into the austere gloom, mumble-slurring his need to use the loo in response to the maître d's questions.

From over the very affronted man's shoulder, he could see Carter ducking low between the tables as she attempted to make her way to any open avenue of escape. He could also see her pursuers – big burly men of Dugan's size and no doubt violent capabilities – scanning the dining room hungrily for her.

For the first time in his life, fear did not paralyze him. His heart stopped, but he did not.

It seemed that _for her_ , he could do anything.

Without hesitation, he began swinging his arms wildly at the doorman and the maître d', knocking over the guestbook, and bellowing obscenities and ranting madly about Masonic conspiracies.

His off-the-cuff plan worked. The club's security muscle abandoned their search for Carter to deal with his 'drunken' crazy ass, and she was able to make a clean get away out through the kitchen.

Her safely retreating form was the last thing he saw before Dugan's Evil Twin clocked him good and it all went black.

His last thoughts before the curtain descended were _'If I never wake up from this, I'd die a happy man. How messed up is that?'_

~A~

He next saw Peggy when she was bailing him out of a London pokey.

She didn't say a word to him, and he didn't say a word to her all the way out of the jailhouse and into their waiting cab.

When he started to open his mouth to break the silence, she interrupted him with a stiff, "You do not get to tell me 'I told you so'."

"Okay," he agreed slowly, too tired and sore to work up the energy to be riled at her imperiousness. But he was not so tired that he was going to let her off the hook either. "If I don't get a 'you-were-right', what – "

"You get a 'Thank you', Jack."

He cracked open one of his swollen eyes to look at her expectantly.

Surprisingly, she wasn't grudging about it at all.

She shifted in her seat to face him as squarely as possible, holding his expectant gaze, as she sincerely said, "Thank you, Jack. You were there when I needed someone to be."

While he was absorbing this, she added somewhat sheepishly, "And while I didn't originally _want_ you there, I am glad you were there. It is nice to know that I can now add you onto the list of people I can count on."

Although he was a bit annoyed that it took two black eyes, several bruised ribs, and a night in the clink for her to realize this when that is all that he had been wanting her to do in yesterday's argument, he was far more overwhelmed by his feeling of relief.

Not only did her comment assuage all of his niggling self-doubt and self-recriminations that had plagued him for ages, but it also uprooted the growing weed of jealousy that had been nearly choking him since her reunion with her successful statesman of an ex-fiancé.

He didn't need to hear from her that he was right about Freddy-boy's cowardice and unreliability and that she was wrong to trust him over Jack. What he had needed to hear from her was that she finally saw that he was changing and was worthy of her trust, or at least becoming worthy.

He gave a grunt as if to say 'no shit, Sherlock', but which was more for the purpose of clearing his suddenly tight throat, before declaring, "Glad to hear that we are finally on the same page, Carter."

"And what page is that exactly?"

As her question came more from a place of curiosity and cautious wariness than the defensive hostility like it had been yesterday, he answered honestly but without his usual brutality.

"I am going to give you shit. You are going to give me shit. But we aren't going to let anyone else give _us_ shit."

In the cab's dim interior, he could see Peggy blink slowly as she contemplated this, and then a slow smile spread across her face as she held her hand out to him.

"Sounds like a deal, Chief."

He reached over and gripped her hand with his bruised one, but didn't shake it.

Instead, he counter-offered, "No, Peggy, it's _partner._ "

Her dark eyes widened with surprise, but then she hastily yet firmly shook his hand, agreeing with pleased smile, "Aye, partner."

And then they returned to the mission at hand – finding out who they had to make pay for his getting shot and besmirching her good name…

… who she had to make pay for putting her on the path that led her back to Fred Wells (who actually did provide them with a decent lead)…

… and who he had to make pay for putting him on the path that led to the unwanted and painful realization that he had developed feelings, the love-conquers-all-my-fear kind of feelings, for one very difficult woman, Peggy Carter.

Yep, someone (else) deserved to be shot over all of this.


	25. The Operative Word is 'Yes'

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter was brought to you by a reader who wishes to remain anonymous: _"'Eavesdropping', 'Endings', 'Equality' and/or 'Consent', 'Cartson' (of course), 'Locker room' - Go."_

Challenge accepted Ms/Mr. Anonymous.

Enjoy : )

* * *

 **The Operative Word is 'Yes'**

* * *

"So why is it that Carter's and my cover is not husband and wife again?"

Peggy had only just begun pulling off her boots on the far side of locker room. She could have made it known to Agent Troy Montenegro and Chief Thompson that she was there, but she kind of wanted to hear Jack's response to this.

"Because, if you were married, then she wouldn't have a reason to work, Monte."

Peggy started to bristle at that, but Monte snorted and said, "I wouldn't recommend saying that in Carter's hearing if I were you, sir."

She thought there might have been a glimmer of hope for her new partner yet, but then he opened his big mouth and inserted both his feet when he added, "I mean, geez! I have never seen a woman still so gung-ho for women's lib. The Brit does realize that America gave them the right to vote like two decades ago, right?"

She was full on glaring daggers at the mirror that she had long ago strategically placed in the corner at the end of this aisle. It allowed her to see the around the locker corner without them seeing her. If they started changing, she would look away, but no arse-hole like this idiot was going to sneak up on her.

While Jack did not rebuke Monte, he didn't agree with the man either. Instead, he redirected the conversation back to the op.

"Carter understands that this is how Lovett & Sons works. The accounting firm would find it highly odd that you couldn't support your wife at the salary they are paying you, and they wouldn't buy liberal political reasons. More likely, they would jump to conclusions that you have a gambling problem and look more closely at the both of you than what we would want."

"Alright, alright. So we go in as secret lovers, so that if anyone of them catches us having a powwow, they can attribute that to us trying to sneak away to be hot and heavy."

Peggy nearly gave herself away with a startled snort as she caught Jack rolling his eyes at the man's bull in a china shop tactics.

"There will be no 'hot and heavy' in any supply closets, please."

When Monte clearly looked confused at this dictate, Jack sighed and explained slowly, "The point of your part of the op is to get you in the inner circle so that they will let you near their off-the-books books. Men like the Lovetts pride themselves on their decorum. Acting in a crass way will turn them off of you. Having them catch Carter in a compromising position will get her fired for such unprofessional misconduct, so she will be unable to do her part of the mission and you will be without back-up."

"And if we do get caught?"

"If you do, have subtle body language. Do things like lean in a bit too close, brush her hair behind her ear, and/or 'accidentally' brush up against her arm. The more you sell your cover this way, the more the Lovetts will be impressed by your ability to snag a fine filly like Carter or in this case, 'Ms. Beauchamp', _and_ be discreet about it."

There was a brief momentary pause, as Jack let this highly psychologically manipulative strategy sink in for Monte, and then he dryly added, "And Monte, even if she was your wife, she would be your partner not your property. Any husband of Carter's who grabbed her ass without her express permission, undercover or otherwise, would run the risk of her hot tea ending up in his lap."

And with an even more evil gleam in his eye than Peggy usually saw when discussing the threat of violence, Jack concluded his pearl of wisdom speech with: "And she would have the right to crush his gonads beneath her boots – high-heeled or combat."

Much to Peggy's silent amusement, Monte nervously swallowed and hastily snatched up his go-bag, before finally croaking out a dutiful, "Yes, sir."

~A~

After Monte left and it was just the two of them, Peggy revealed herself.

Swinging around to the other side of their row of lockers, she leaned against them and curiously asked, "So, Chief, do I have that gonad-crushing right just because this is undercover?"

Jack's only response to her surprise entry was to stop packing his go-bag to look up at her and arch one of his golden eyebrows.

When she made no move to apologize for her eavesdropping, he gave in and answered bluntly, "Any husband – undercover or the real deal."

"And does this right just apply to me?"

Peggy didn't know why she asked it. She was curious, yes. They were alone, which was rare, so it was a perfect opportunity for her to get a straight answer out of him. He wouldn't feel the need to posture. But it wasn't just that.

For some reason, his answer mattered to her, and she found herself holding her breath, as if one wrong exhalation and she could blow him right off the edge of whatever precipice they were standing on.

Jack seemed to sense this, because he didn't give her a quick quip or a sardonic reply. Rubbing his hand through his hair as a means to buy time, he gave her question considerable thought, and then in true Jack-fashion, he was brutally honest.

"Unfortunately, Carter, your might makes right."

She thought that might be the end of it, but then he looked up again and boldly met her gaze, vowing, "But if a woman that is less than highly trained in the art of combat ever takes her husband to court for assuming that her 'I do' was carte blanche for all his sexual desire, I'd stand by her."

Peggy held his heated blue stare and gave him a solid nod of understanding and acceptance.

Almost as if this was the signal that he had been looking for, Jack flashed her a wry half-smile, saying in that light-hearted yet earnest way of his, "If investigation and counter-intelligence wasn't your calling and, ya know, the times had caught up with you, Marge, I would recommend you going into the business of training women to defend themselves."

If Peggy hadn't been leaning up against the lockers already, she would have needed to. The junior-est of agents could have knocked her over with a feather; she was so in shock at such progressive-minded words coming out of _that_ man's mouth.

Was this the same man who had once whined about 'babysitting' her if she came along on a mission? Who had once talked of 'the natural order of the universe' where 'no man would ever see her as his equal'?

Perhaps, 'once' was the key word there.

Her dumbfounded expression did not go unnoticed. His wry half-smile became his cursed full-on smirk, as he tossed over his shoulder on his way out the door:

"Daydream about my amazing business plan later, Carter. For now, go make sure Agent Montenegro doesn't blow either of your covers and check in with me at 0900 tomorrow."

Peggy dutifully agreed, but…

* * *

~Ending A~

* * *

 _Peggy dutifully agreed, but_ ... even as she went back to changing out of her training gear, she could not help but shake her head at the irony that all of his talk of women's rights and consent only made her want to bend him over one of those benches and have her wicked way with him.

After he said yes, of course.

* * *

~Ending B~

* * *

 _Peggy dutifully agreed, and_ ... silently thanked her old training officer for instilling the automatic subordinate-to-superior response, for in her current state of discombobulation, she could have made a total mumbling, stumbling idiot out of herself otherwise.

After a few slow deep breaths and a mental order to focus on the mission at hand instead of all of those confusing and conflicting emotions swirling within, she slammed the door shut on her locker and got down to business.

No pretty, smooth-talking blond boy of a boss was going to distract her, even if he was evolving. No siree.

* * *

~Ending C ~

* * *

 _Peggy dutifully agreed, but ..._ even as she went back to changing out of her training gear, she could not help but shake her head at the irony that all of his talk of women's rights and consent only made her want to –

 _'_ Ahem!' She cleared her throat and gave herself a mental slap to the back of the head.

 _'Mind out of the gutter, Carter. You have a mission to do.'_

* * *

 **A/N:** Not quite a choose your own adventure story, but...Vote for your favorite ending!

Please let me know what you think. Order of preference, feedback on each, 'none/all of the above', thoughts on the story overall - any and all constructive criticism is appreciated : )


	26. You or Me, Me and You

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This prompt is from **shepweir always** who suggested once upon a time that there be a one-shot of Jack and Peggy being _'_ _sent on a suicide mission together where only one of them is supposed to make it back. They have to decide which one. Naturally each chooses to say the other...'_

Enjoy.

* * *

 **You or Me ~:~ Me and You**

* * *

 _Kaliningrad Sea Port, Midnight…_

"What the hell, Carter! Why are you here?!"

"Why am _I_ here?" Peggy asked incredulously, as she glanced around at the docks where they were currently being shot at by a posse of Hydra thugs, and she couldn't help but wonder if she was missing something.

But nope, she hadn't. She and the man that she both called her boss and partner were surrounded by heavily-armed and very angry men. Their fury was quite understandable, as this same boss/partner had taken it upon himself to seize an opportunity to infiltrate their local hub of operations and steal their little black book, which listed their undercover agents.

Jack popped around the refrigerator-sized crates they were hiding behind to fire off a few shots at their pursuers, before ducking back down and retorting testily, "Yeah, why are _you_ here? The plan was – "

"The plan was suicide!"

Yes, the S.S.R. really needed this information. Yes, it would have been impossible to duplicate the circumstances that allowed for the opportunity to happen again. However, that window of opportunity had been short-lived, and it would have been impossible (even for her) to get out undetected.

And if she hadn't been sent out on a lunch run because she was the only one who spoke the native tongue, she could have told him so at the time, and perhaps, they could have avoided this catastrophe.

As if to illustrate her point, a steady _rata-tat-tat!_ of machine gunfire sent wood chips and splinters flying over their heads.

"How is this better? You are going to die too!"

"Maybe, maybe not," she acknowledged with a shrug. "But you definitely would have been dead ten minutes ago, if it wasn't for me."

Ten minutes ago, it had been their two baseball teams-worth of Hydra thugs versus his lone ranger; a couple of their rocket launchers, to his couple of flash-bangs; and whatever heavy assault armaments they had, to his semi-automatic pistol with whatever was left of its last spare cartridge and his trusty knife. Thanks to her and her well-prepped bag of wonders (which included a half-dozen grenades), the enemy was down to a team and a half and had no more rockets to reload their launchers.

Jack looked as if he dearly wanted to protest. His face was doing quite a few grimacing contortions, before he reloaded his pistol with one of the extra clips that she had packed in her duffel and bit out: "Fine, _my hero,_ how do you propose we get out of this mess?"

Peggy did another quick scan of the area, hoping to find a miracle exit, but it was rather pointless. The goons had them pinned down. There weren't enough of these handy crates to provide them cover to any of the nearby warehouse buildings, and the only boat moored to the pier was currently up in flames.

"I don't know yet," she admitted reluctantly, before adding with a regretful nod to her poor bonfire of a launch boat, "Their stunt with their last rocket ruined my original exit strategy."

Over the noise of her fired off rounds from her Smith & Wesson at the tosser trying to outflank them, she could hear Jack's sarcastic drawl of, "Great."

She ignored all of the curses that he continued to mutter after that, and she resumed her search for a way out. It seemed rather hopeless for a few moments, but finally, in the dim light of her smoldering boat, she could see a small motor boat, or possibly a dingy, tied to the next pier over, out of range of their pursuers' guns. Tossing her despairing partner a smile, she declared, "Oh ye of little faith. I said 'yet'."

Jack followed her gaze and quickly spotted the little sea-craft, but being the cynic that he was, he was quick to find the flaw in her plan. "So we swim out there and what? Pray that it's got petrol? All the while they shoot at us from the shoreline? That will never work, Carter."

Her smile became rather sad, as she pointed out the obvious truth: "It will, if I stay behind and provide you cover fire."

"I'm not going to be able to swing by and pick you up," Jack pointed out, frowning in obvious bewilderment. "And that still leaves you without any cover fire."

Peggy just looked at him, waiting for the penny to drop.

And when it did, his blue eyes widened with horrified shock, and then his pale skin became livid with apoplectic fury. He nearly burst a blood vessel, as he irately roared out:

"Oh hell no! And you call me suicidal? Why would you - ?"

"Who said anything about my suicide?" she asked with false naiveté. To assist in her charade of hope, she hid her face by peaking around the crate's corner again to make sure no one was sneaking up on them.

They weren't _yet_ , but they were clearly getting into position. She determined that this would provide her sufficient time to sell her pitch, so she continued with as much confidence as she could muster, "Before you go, we'll herd them into a cluster, throw the last of the grenades and flash-bangs, and then we'll take advantage of their confusion. While you are swimming out to the other pier, I'll be providing cover fire for you and running towards one of these other buildings, which should provide me more maneuverability and coverage."

"And is this bag of yours a bottomless pit of ammo?" Jack scoffed in disbelief, clearly not buying her act.

She ignored his question, and instead briskly announced, "Speaking of – toss me a clip. I'm out."

Jack reached into the duffel at their feet and obligingly handed her a clip from their dwindling supply. She reloaded and signaled to him where she had last seen the thugs getting situated, and then they both darted around their corners to fire off a few more shots. Jack managed to wing his guy, and Peggy sent hers toppling off a stack of large port containers where he had been attempting to set up a sniper's nest.

This setback in the posse's offensive strategy gave her and Jack a little breather room, but only just enough to resume their debate.

With a resigned sigh, she argued, "It has to be this way, Jack. Do you see any other way out?"

Before the man that she was desperately trying to save despite himself could admit the truth, he hastily scanned the area, searching just as she had. And just like she had, he saw the hopelessness of their situation.

Grudgingly, he confessed, "No, I don't." Almost as an afterthought, he half-growled, half-whined, "But why is it that _you_ get to be the one who gets to go out in the blaze of glory?"

"Because you're the Chief."

She had meant her statement of that simple fact to soothe his ruffled feathers, but apparently all it did was get his dander up further, as he sat up a little straighter and scowled even more fiercely at her, full-on growling, "And as Chief, I order you to swim to the boat and take this with you while you are at it."

Peggy ignored the cylindrical plastic tube of documents that he thrust at her, meeting him eye-to-eye, scowl-for-scowl, as she staunchly declared, "No."

"No?" he asked incredulously, and before she could repeat herself, he exploded, "Goddamn it, Peggy! This is not the time to be a stubborn broad!"

Mulishly, she retorted, "This is the _exact_ time to be."

Surprisingly, he didn't point out that she was being insubordinate or threaten to man-handle her and toss her into the sea. ( _Ha! As if he could_.) She almost wished he had, instead of imploringly asking her:

"Again, _why_?"

Perhaps, it was the hitch in his voice or the depths of despair that she was seeing in those normally icy blues of his, but whatever the case may be, his display of vulnerability pulled at her, and she admitted fiercely, "Because I am not going to watch another man I – I _admire_ – die!" As she caught the pleading tone in her voice, she added, in an attempt to retain some dignity, a hasty respectful, "Sir."

For several seemingly ageless moments, Jack scanned her face, as if searching for something. The reason behind her struggles to find the right word for her feelings for him, how much of her desire to stay behind had more to do with Steve, the sincerity of her statement in general – she couldn't tell.

And she wasn't sure if he ever found his answer, because their soul-searching was rudely interrupted by another burst of machine gunfire that sent the wood chips and splinters flying again.

"Goddamn it!" Jack howled in frustration. "Would you quit firing at us?! We are trying to have an important conversation here!"

After he sent his own burst of gunfire back, holding the bastards barely at bay yet again, Peggy gave up on her dignity and begged, "Jack, _please_ , get to the boat. Get home."

"No, Peggy, I won't," he declared rather grimly. "I am not leaving you."

At her devastated expression, he asked with growing impatience, "Look. How do you think I will feel if you get killed?"

It was vastly inappropriate of her, she knew, but even though he was staring at her beseechingly for understanding, all she could hear was a distant echo of an argument long ago made in Dooley's office, and her lips involuntarily twitched in amusement, as she unhelpfully supplied, "Like a moron?"

Jack growled a string of unrepeatable obscenities either at her, for throwing his words back at him, or at their shooters, who had sent yet another man out to try to outflank them.

After she made Idiot #3 regret that choice by popping him in the kneecap, she declared, "Look, if we keep arguing like this, we'll run out of ammo, and the point will be moot."

"So get to the goddamn bo– "

" _So_ ," she interrupted, "We need to think about this logically. You have the greater lung capacity. You can swim deeper longer, and therefore, have greater chances of making it to the boat and completing the mission."

"And this is Europe. Not the Southeast Pacific. You know the area better," he rejoined, looking rather triumphant at returning the favor and using her old argument against her. "And if we are going to be _logical_ about this…Which one of us has played baseball and has a better throwing arm? That's right, me!"

A whole string of outraged thoughts ran through her mind at that ridiculous assertion. But when she had the thought of _'If the words 'throw like a girl' are in any way, shape, or form connected to me, I will shoot him and be done with it'_ , she realized his game.

"Are you _trying_ to piss me off so that I will _want_ to leave you here?"

Jack smirked boyishly at her, as he innocently inquired, "I dunno. Is it working?"

Peggy opened her mouth to argue further but stopped because there was a sudden increase in yelling and gunshot fire, coming from their remaining besiegers.

"Why the hell are they shouting in Russian at us?" Jack asked exasperatedly. "They've got to know by now that we are – "

"Shhh!" Peggy hushed him, cocking her head to listen and understand better. "They're not shooting at us." There was another round of gunfire, this time in their direction. After ducking down even further, she ruefully admitted, "Or at least not _just_ us, anymore."

"Then who?"

After hearing several shouts of the word ' _снайпер_ ', Peggy answered, "Sniper."

"What the hell?"

And then there were several more frantic bursts of gunshots at the far end of their dock and terrified shouts coming from the men who had previously been issuing death threats at them.

Before she could determine the source of this new commotion or figure out how to take advantage of it, out of nowhere a truck came barreling around one of the many warehouses that they had not been able to get to, and the French-accented voice of Jacques Dernier called out:

"Hey, Juliet and Romeo, need a ride?"

~A~

It hadn't taken them long to take the Howling Commando up on his offer. A heartbeat and a half really, and they were both running and diving into the bed of the truck.

Dernier and Gabe Jones provided cover fire, while the driver sped off as soon as he got the signal.

Once they were out of range and it looked like there were no pursuers, Peggy barked, "Report, Jones."

"Well, ma'am, your guy Ramirez was successful in following your orders in getting a hold of that Jarvis fellow, who got a hold of good ol' Howard, who got word to Dugan."

"And here we are," Jacques concluded, his smile beaming wide beneath his mustache.

From beside her, Jack asked curiously, "And where is Rick?"

"Oh, _oui_ , he was leading the charge along with Dugan against that nest of vipers," Jacques explained. "But after we radioed that we got the two of you out, they should now be on their way back to base."

"And which one of you fine lot do I owe a thank you for those timely sniper shots?"

Jacques looked puzzled at this, and Jones merely shrugged, admitting, "I don't know, whoever he was, he wasn't one of us."

Peggy found the idea of the mystery sniper rather disturbing, and couldn't help but wonder aloud, even though she knew no one could answer, "Then who? And why?"

"Don't care. But when we get back, Marge, I am going to write you up on _so_ many insubordination related charges…"

Although he let that threat hang ominously in the air, it lost some its teeth, as he reached over and grasped her hand. Whether that simple gesture was meant to reassure himself or her, she did not know. All she did know was that it felt comforting, and she had no plans to pull away any time soon.

And apparently neither did he, as he kept a hold of her hand all the way back to the Commandos' base.

~A~

 _The next Monday morning…_

"Hey, Lisa, is Angie here?" Peggy asked the raven-haired waitress behind the Auto-mat's counter.

"Oh no! That lucky dame got a call back for a second audition. Didn't she tell you?"

"Um no, I have been out of town," Peggy hedged, while silently wishing her friend and roommate good luck.

Lisa nodded, and, bless her heart, didn't ask any prying questions, but instead brightly expressed, "Oh, I hope your trip went well!" before bustling over to help the next customer, an elderly gentleman.

As it was rather busy, Peggy thought it would be awhile before the perky waitress swung back around to her, but after she took the gentleman's order, Lisa was back at her side.

"Before I forget, one of your friends stopped by and gave this to me to pass along to you."

Peggy looked up to see Lisa holding out an unmarked envelope. Warily, she took it, and when Lisa had bustled off again, she cautiously opened it.

Inside was a scrap of paper, and on it, in lurid red ink, was written:

 _Dear Peg,_

 _Nobody gets to kill you, but me._

 _XOXO_

 _~D._

Heart pounding, Peggy turned over the letter and saw that it was a soup can label from the company warehouse that the sniper had been in.

 _'Oh bloody shit.'_


	27. Office Chats & Girl Talk

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter was brought to you by all of those who requested more Angie and by me. My Muse apparently decided to do an emotionally-confused Peggy, a work-in-progress emotionally-evolving Jack, and an emotionally-wise yet mischievous Angie.

So, yeah, enjoy, por favor.

* * *

 **Office Chats & Girl Talk**

* * *

"Carter, my office, please."

The request to see him in his office did not bother her. It usually meant that he wanted to consult on a case or about another agent but did not want the others to know that he relied so heavily on a woman's opinion. No, it was his 'please' that drew her up short. He never used such genteel words, especially with her, as he never wanted to seem as if he was pleading for a favor from a subordinate, much less a woman. No, to maintain appearance, he always just ordered it.

Despite her misgivings, Peggy dutifully followed his order/request and joined him in his office.

"Shut the door, Agent Carter."

 _'Agent Carter', not 'sweetheart', not 'Marge', not just 'Carter'. Shit, this is going to be bad._

She was so flustered by this, that after shutting the door, she became abnormally indecisive. She wondered if it would be better to sit and prepare herself for bad news or to fall back on the comfort of her military training and take it like a soldier standing at attention in front of his desk.

Jack helped her out of this quandary by waving her to one of his chairs, and as soon as she settled herself, he began:

"I'm sorry about this, Carter, but it's about that _ass-hat_ transfer from Washington D.C."

Peggy relaxed. Jack griping about the D.C. 'ass-hat' was nothing new. The real question was:

"Which? The one who confirms our suspicions that nothing gets done by anyone in D.C. or the one who swallowed the silver spoon he was born with and it's now stuck in his arse?"

Jack managed not to spew his coffee all over his desk at her descriptions, but only just barely. Amidst a few sputtering coughs, he growled out, "Thanks for that mental image, Carter."

Peggy only smiled demurely at him while she waited patiently for his answer. She felt that it was both a fair assessment and a fair question. He frequently complained to her about both agents for those very reasons.

Finally, he got down to business, asserting bluntly, "Silver-spoon Collins. He filed a grievance against you."

Peggy did not nervously shift in her seat, and she did _not_ roll her eyes in annoyance. She _did_ keep her voice cool and even as she curiously asked, "Is this about what I said on Fri– ?"

"Stop right there," Jack hastily and curtly interrupted. "This is about what happened during training the other day, and if I don't ask, you don't tell. _Capisce_?"

Peggy raised her eyebrows in surprise at his level of vehemence, but she nodded both her understanding and gratitude. She had been about to incriminate herself for saying some rather uncouth remarks about where Collins could stick aforementioned silver spoon (if he had ever gotten it removed). Collins could bring out the worst in anyone, and she was no saint. The fact that he had harangued her in front of everyone (except Thompson who had been in a budget meeting at the time) for nearly 20 minutes – for a mistake _that he had made_ but she apparently 'should have caught' – would not be taken into consideration by the He-man Resource Department.

Tossing the overly thick grievance file on to his desk rather disgustedly, he summarized its contents, "He goes on like a whiny little _bi-_ er… _brat_ …about how you used 'excessive' and 'prejudicial' force against him when you were sparring."

'Excessive' and 'prejudicial', her auntie's ass! She hadn't broken any bones. And maybe, _just maybe_ , she had given him a sore jaw and bruised a few ribs, but more likely than not, it had just been his ego, as she had proven him wrong that he could put the 'little lady' in her place. 'Flat on her back' had been his words to be exact.

She opened her mouth to defend herself, but quickly shut it again at the warning look Jack shot her.

"The reason I asked you in here is because I can approach this one of two ways. Instinctually," he explained with a sardonic twist to his lips, "I want to join in with our good ol' H.R. buddies and laugh him out of their office for whining about being beaten up by a girl."

When he didn't move onto option two, she prompted warily, "But?"

"But…" he sighed, "that belittles your capabilities."

Peggy stared at him flabbergasted. This acknowledgment of her skill wasn't at all what she had expected. And it was coming from _Jack_ , of all people. What the hell was she supposed to do with that?

"Um, thank you?"

Jack rolled his eyes, and he admonished mockingly, "Now don't be going modest on me now, Marge."

(So apparently not that.)

At her nod, he prompted, "So do you want me to make this go away? Or do you want to face this head on and have the incident permanently in your personnel file?"

A small part of her did want this mess to go away and was grateful that Jack was offering it to her. Another small part, (whether it was bigger or smaller than the other she was not sure), reveled in the idea of Collins getting his comeuppance that way.

But an even bigger part of her knew that if she accepted that offer, it would be a double-standard and then all her talk of gender equality would be for naught.

So with a deep steadying breath, she asserted, "I want to be treated like any other agent, sir."

"You would choose the option where there is more paperwork," Jack grunted, but there was an approving glint in his eyes, as he added, "Alright, I'll back your play. When asked, I'll tell them that you are capable of inflicting the alleged damage, but in my opinion he is exaggerating and lashing out of jealousy/shame that you are ten times the agent he is."

Swallowing past a lump in her throat, she quietly said, "Thank you, sir."

Jack dismissed her thanks with a grimace, as he curtly ordered, "Don't thank me yet. Your part of the paperwork includes a written statement from you and a list of witnesses. I want it on my desk by the end of today."

"Yes, Chief."

When he didn't glance up from the files that he had busily begun to shuffle through, she rose and headed for the door, but once there, she hesitated once again at the threshold, unable to resist the urge to glance back at this new and unfamiliar version of Jack Thompson.

This time, he did look up, and when he caught her ogling him, he snarked, "If you stare at me much longer, it will be me filing a harassment complaint next, Carter."

While she inexplicably began to blush at this reprimand, she took great comfort in the fact that _this_ was the Jack she knew.

She firmly shut the door on the infuriating man, if not on her tumultuous feelings stirring deep within.

~A~

 _Later that evening…_

"I couldn't get it out of my head all day."

"I imagine not, English. I mean really? Who does this Collins guy think he is?" Angie protested hotly.

Peggy smiled gratefully at her for her automatic defense, but was quick to correct her misconception of the problem, "No, not that. There were several witnesses there – Ramirez, Fisher, and Henry. They will back me up."

She gave her friend at the opposite end of the sofa a long assessing look before hesitantly asking, " _Okaaayy…_ If not that, then what or who? Blondie?"

Her assessment, while not spot on, certainly hit close enough, as Peggy shot her a sharp look before admitting grudgingly, "Yes and no."

Much to Angie's silent amusement, Peggy fiddled with the tassels of the little decorative sofa pillow in her lap before elaborating. "I just… I shouldn't be so surprised by Jack's actions. I mean he has been treating me like an actual agent and a competent one at that – aside from the 'sweethearts' – but he's just never …"

Peggy drifted off at that point, giving her a helpless shrug. Taking pity on her poor friend's floundering, she kindly supplied, "It's just that he has never come out and said it or showed it so bluntly before, and you aren't sure how you feel about that."

And she wouldn't. Peggy Carter came from a duty-bound British family, and all that she did and experienced during the war and after it, certainly hadn't helped her become more comfortable with her emotions – at least not to the comfort level that an actress from an Italian immigrant family would have.

As she listened to the British-American government agent stumble through an explanation now though, she had to admire her for her valiant attempt.

"No, I feel gratified and relieved. And there's a little bit of wariness, like he is going to do or say something again and pull the rug right out from under my feet and I will be back at square one again. But mostly I am really… _really_ … happy."

Upon uttering that last word, a faint blush began to creep up her face. At the sight of this, Angie couldn't help but sympathetically exclaim, "Oh English."

"Oh what, Martinelli?" Peggy shot back defensively.

"I know _exactly_ what is going on," she asserted gently, trying to be as kind as possible.

But her level of certainty must have irked her friend, because with much less amusement than Angie thought Peggy intended, she archly replied, "Oh you do, do you?"

"Yes, I do," was her unabashed and more than a bit smug answer, "even if you have been trying to ship it out on the River of Denial and out to the ocean of your subconscious."

Peggy looked as if she wanted to scoff or tease her about her ridiculous metaphor, but Angie felt that it was her duty as a friend not to let her use her usual defense mechanisms to avoid uncomfortable personal truths.

So she continued with a sympathetic yet knowing smirk, "Blondie _sees_ you now – not just as a woman or Captain America's Girl or even as a subordinate. He sees and is now treating you as an equal, and you suddenly have – or maybe not so suddenly have, that's the real question – _feelings_ for him."

"Yeah, feelings of irritation, aggravation, annoyance, and maybe reluctant gratefulness," Peggy scoffed, "But not – "

"Yes, _fond_ feelings, _sweetheart_."

There. The truth was out there. And her imitation of Blondie's drawl was not half bad, if she did say so herself.

Peggy sat there, staring at her with her mouth hanging open like Angie had suddenly begun speaking in tongues, but some part of her understood, as the poor decorative pillow slowly began to be mushed into a tiny compressed yet tasseled ball.

Eventually, the shock wore off, and Peggy spluttered irritably, "Angie Martinelli! I did _not_ suddenly develop an attraction to my boss over this ridiculous Collins business like some – like some damsel-in-distress after being rescued by a white knight! I just – I just gained a higher sense of respect for the man. That's all."

And that last ditch effort to deceive herself was Angie's cue to exit.

She gracefully rose up and off the sofa, pirouetting away to head towards the bathroom; all the while, she sing-songed, "Methinks, the lady doth protest _too mu-u-uch!_ "

There was a half-amused, half-exasperated protest of "Angie! What have I said about Shakespeare-analyzing me! _"_

Angie stopped in the doorway to laughingly reply, "Not to. But the Bard has such insight into human na- !"

Peggy's expressive brown eyes rolled with affectionate exasperation, but there was just enough of a flash of some sort of heated emotion, that Angie knew it was time to duck and cover.

And she was right, for just as she was slamming the powder room door shut, the poor mangled sofa pillow sailed through the gap right where her head would have been.

Over her less-than-muffled giggles and half-hearted protests, she could hear Peggy's angrily muttered curses of: _"Shit. Shit. Shit."_ and _"…bloody Jack…know-it-all Bill…and that goddamn Collins…"_

But she wasn't all that worried. English's anger only meant that she was no longer in denial and was that much closer to acceptance.

Finally.


	28. Scars

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** Just a heads up, this contains _some_ intimate married Cartson action. I don't feel that it is full-on 'M' rating worthy, but it definitely flirts with the line. So in case there are others who disagree with me, here is the fair warning.

This was inspired by a prompt from **HoRnIe DeMoN** : _'I'm curious to see what happens the first time one of them returns from a mission with some nasty battle wounds or when they are on a mission together and one gets shot or severely hurt in some way either due to just doing their job or possibly trying to protect the other...'_

So I give you...

* * *

 **Scars**

* * *

 _One Sunday morning…_

Peggy Carter-Thompson was basking in one of those rare moments of her life, in which she had nothing to do and nothing to worry about. Her head was resting peaceably on her husband's shoulder, and she was thoroughly enjoying the sensation of his hand alternating between running through her dark locks and gently massaging her neck.

She was almost into that beautiful Zen-like state in which she was neither awake nor asleep, when his fingers stopped there blissful kneading and he quietly remarked, "So I have been meaning to ask…"

"Mhmm…yeah?" was all she could manage, but what she had really wanted to say was 'Don't stop'.

"Yeah, how did you get this?"

It took her a minute, but finally her befuddled brain caught up and realized that 'this' was the half-inch scar that he was tracing at the base of her neck.

"Oh. Bonfire Night, when I was a girl. At about...hmmm... nine maybe?" Doing her very best to stifle a rising yawn, she explained sleepily, "Ro-Roman candle right in the back of the head."

"Ouch," he sympathetically murmured.

"Meh," she mewed noncommittally, before glancing up and mischievously echoing, "So I have been meaning to ask you…"

While Jack returned her grin, there was a hint of wariness in his blue eyes, as he cautiously prompted, "About?"

"About that night, when you left our weekend getaway early. What really happened?"

He blinked in surprise at her for a few moments, before drily noting, "That's random."

"No more random than asking about a childhood scar," she rejoined unapologetically.

Jack opened his mouth, no doubt to argue the point, but he quickly shut it again, having finally learned the lesson (after over a year of being in a relationship with her) to pick his battles. When he opened it again, it was to explain, "That was the night that the S.S.R. got Karl Morgenstern."

"That was you? Why didn't you tell me?" she cried out in outrage, punching him in his other arm.

Karl Morgenstern was an anti-nationalist terrorist. It had been rumored in the global intelligence community that an American government agency had caught him before he blew up the U.N., but had kept it hush-hush as they didn't want to reveal how vulnerable the new global organization was to attack.

Jack captured her abusive hand and began to massage it in a pacifying way as he explained, "Well, Marge, if you recall, that was when I was still with the S.S.R. and you were playing Build-a-Spy-Network with Stark."

"Wow," Peggy muttered, not sure if she was more amazed by his success in capturing the elusive bastard, by his commendable job at resisting the urge to gloat before now (it must have been killing him at the time to keep it a secret from her), or by his belief that using his 'good old boy' charm would get him out of hot water now.

He apparently had enough wisdom to recognize that he was skating on thin ice, so he attempted to distract her with the observation of: "You didn't hear me that night that the chopper dropped me off for our anniversary dinner."

Much to her chagrin, his gambit worked.

"Um, anniversary?" she asked in confusion, before teasingly pointing out, "We just got married only 72 hours ago."

Jack chuckled lowly, sending a pleasant thrill up and down her spine, and then he teased right back:

"Alright, Mrs. Too-literal, I could make a crack about how each day with you feels like a year, but I won't."

(Smart man, considering how vulnerable he and his _family jewels_ were right now.)

"But you know when I mean," he concluded.

Peggy leaned up to look at his face, asking with genuine curiosity, "Actually, I don't. When did you start counting?"

"After our first date, when we got the subject of our exes out of the way," he admitted with a faint blush. "And quit changing the subject."

Recognizing that her cynical husband did not like to be caught having a sentimental bone in his body, she resisted the urge to razz him about it or praise him for the fact, and instead settled back down to snuggling against his side, before nonchalantly admitting, "Percussion grenades. I was partially deaf that night."

"I knew it wasn't a head cold!" Jack crowed with self-righteous satisfaction.

"Nope, it wasn't," she admitted, but before he could scold her for that fib, she declared smugly, "That's when we got Georgio Batroc."

" _La Boxe Française_? But we wanted him!"

"I know," Peggy admitted with a sigh, before defending herself. "Almost every American agency did at the time. And if we had turned him over to the S.S.R. or any other fed agency, some kind of plea deal would have been made for his knowledge of the mercenary underworld. He never would have gotten returned to France, where he could face justice for when he partnered with Hydra during the war."

They lay there in silence for a few moments more, both coming to terms with the fact that they had had to keep secrets from each other.

Eventually, Jack began his gentle massage again, as he murmured gratefully, "I am glad we work together now. No more secrets."

"Yeah…" Peggy sighed in contentment, both at the truth in his words, as he was now a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. right along with her, and the fact that his talented fingers were working out kinks that she did not know that she had.

When his fingers began their work in the shoulder where she had the two bullet wound scars, she curiously asked, "Do you have any scars not battle or job related?"

They knew the stories behind each other's other scars – including her abdominal one from the rebar at Roxxon and his upper right chest wound from that thrice-cursed hit man. The City of Angels hadn't really been very kind to either of them.

And come to think of it, neither had the City of Brotherly Love.

As soon as she thought of the near tragic events of Philadelphia, almost subconsciously, Peggy began stroking the long white scar on her husband's right hip, as if by doing so she could ward off the rising haunting memory.

But it was to no avail.

There was a metallic taste in her mouth and the scent of gunpowder in the air.

 _"Carter?! Goddamn it, Peggy, where are you?!"_

 _Thud!_

 _Thud!_

 _"Ja-a-a-c-!"_

~A~

Jack felt Peggy's light caress along his hip, his right hip, and he instinctually knew where her mind had gone. It was impossible for his mind not to go there too.

~ _Philadelphia, all those months ago_ ~

 _"Clear!"_

 _"Clear!"_

After the third clear from the sweeping team, Jack began to relax.

He shouldn't have been so tense in the first place. S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Margaret Carter knew how to take care of herself. He had seen her do it often enough.

But perhaps that was the problem. Out here, he couldn't _see_ her. He couldn't watch his Marge's back.

He hadn't thought it would have been so hard, being assigned by Dugan to lead the unit watching the perimeter, while she led the charge ferreting out the Hydra cell squirreled away in this warren-like slum housing. After all, he hadn't been able to watch her back when she was first setting up this agency and he had still been captaining the sinking ship of the S.S.R.

Apparently, not knowing the details of Peggy's involvement had helped him dwell in the land of denial that she was in danger at all.

He was just telling himself to be satisfied with covering her six out here, when he heard over their radio:

 _"Cle- No! Bogie at 2 o'clock. Watch out, Direc-!"_

 _BANG!_

 _"Man down! I repeat: She's down! The bogey is heading down the south stairwell!"_

Jack's heart began to pound in chest and his blood began to thud in his ears, making it sound as if he was hearing everyone from under water. His breathing came in gasps, as if he had been shot in the chest again.

He certainly felt like he was back in that hotel room, watching the life drain out of his body.

Except for this time, his body wasn't paralyzed with shock. This time, when the fear was not for himself but for _her_ , his terror was galvanizing his body into motion.

Turning to the most senior of the rookie agents that were in his charge, he ordered, "Louis, you're lead. Be on the lookout for any of the bastard's friends."

Ignoring the man's hissed protests and questions, he raced into the north side entrance of what he prayed was not the site of Carter's Last Stand.

Some small part of him knew that he shouldn't do what he was doing, but he didn't care. The only truth that mattered, that coursed through his veins, was that he _had_ to get to Peggy.

~ _Now_ ~

Peggy trailed her fingers along the scar again and again, feeling the slight raise in his skin. Its warmth reassured her that he was alive and here with her, even though for a horrifying moment she had thought she had lost it all – again.

~ _Then_ ~

 _"Clear!"_

 _"Clear!"_

After the third clear, Peggy began to feel a rising sense of disappointment.

Not in Jack though. No, since he had finally accepted the position of Chief of North American Intelligence at S.H.I.E.L.D. there had been far fewer false positives of suspected Hydra activity in the States.

No, she was disappointed in herself for not acting sooner on the intel that Jack and his team had provided. As much as she had wanted to, S.H.I.E.L.D. just wasn't ready to respond as quickly as was apparently needed, especially for an all-hands-on-deck op, and the bastards had fled like roaches from the light as a consequence.

She was also a bit disappointed that she hadn't pushed Jack earlier to get more field experience with the team as a whole, instead of focusing on just his section. If he had, they could have paired up for this raid like old times, instead of him being relegated to the perimeter and rookie-babysitting.

Just as she was raising her radio to call out to her team that her half of the interconnecting bedrooms were clear, her partner Jeff Mace was shouting:

 _"Cle- No! Bogie at 2 o'clock. Watch out, Direc-!"_

There was a fast-moving shadow to her left.

The sound of gunfire.

And then the next thing she knew, she was flat on her back, the wind knocked out of her, and –

And cold creeping in as warm life drained out from … somewhere…

~.~

She faded in and out of that for a while.

She knew Mace had pulled her behind the overturned kitchen table. She heard shouting, exchanges of gunshot fire, and running feet, but it was all-disjointed and garbled like there was static on her mental radio.

But when she heard Jack shouting her name: _"Carter?! Goddamn it, Peggy, where are you?!"_ , she was able to tune right in.

From what remained of the shattered and cracked mirror that had been hanging on the back of the doorway behind her, she could see Jack making his way towards her, dodging behind each cheap piece of furniture that had probably been painstakingly collected by the family that had lived here.

Armchair.

Sofa.

Side-table.

Wing chair.

Club chair.

Bullets flew over his head and sent spraying ricochets past his nose as gunfire was exchanged between those in the hallway and those in the kitchen, but he managed to dodge them all.

All but the last ones.

Just as he was crossing that last bit of space from living room to dining room, he was clipped in the hip which sent him spinning and he was shot again and sent sprawling.

In that moment, her world imploded.

And she was screaming: _"Ja-a-a-c-!"_

And then she knew no more.

~ _Now_ ~

Jack felt Peggy shudder against him. He resisted the urge to kiss the scar at her temple, and instead, he gave her the brief reassuring squeeze that she needed, as he wanted to remind her that he was here and well and not drowning in yet another pool of his own blood.

But truth be told, he also wanted to remind himself that she was here and in his arms, warm, healthy, and rosy, and not the pale and wan figure drowning in a sea of hospital white – white walls, white sheets, white bandages, white beeping monitors.

~ _Then_ ~

 _"Thanks, Rose."_

 _"No problem, Chief."_

Jack barely heard the woman, who had wheeled him into the room, as she resumed her post outside of her Director's hospital room.

He couldn't take his eyes off the woman who was normally so much larger than life but who now seemed only to hold a tenuous connection.

Intellectually, he knew that was not the case, but seeing her hooked up to the machines, her head wrapped in bandages, and for once being utterly still except for her shallow breathing made him think of all the horrible things that _could_ have happened.

After being shot in the hip and taking another through his calf muscle, he had not even been able to crawl to Peggy's side.

Fortunately for him, Dugan and his A-team had finished off the Hydra scumbags, and medical aid had been brought to both him and Peggy.

He had forced himself to stay awake long enough to hear Mace's report that she was alive.

After his surgery, Daniel had come and told him that Peggy had taken several hits to the chest, but that Stark's upgraded bullet-proof vests had done their job. The one bullet that had gotten her had grazed along her temple and that the impact from that and being blasted back into the giant leaded door mirror had given her a severe concussion.

As Daniel had given this recital and even now, he kept holding onto his friend's first words to him after he woke up – _"She's fine."_

He did his best not to imagine what could have happened if Mace hadn't warned her in time and she hadn't turned her head to the angle that she had.

As he gazed upon her slumbering form waiting for her to open those beautiful brown peepers, he focused on the whites of her sheets and pillows, the white pallor of her face, and even the one white hair that he could see.

He focused on that rather than the imagined carnal red of her blood spattering the walls of his imagination.

~ _Now_ ~

She hadn't lost it all though. She was here with Jack, being held tightly in his arms.

The scars, like the memories, would fade with time.

And thanks to Dum-Dum, there wouldn't be any new haunting ones like those.

~ _Then_ ~

Peggy woke up to see Dum-Dum huffing and puffing at the foot of her bed.

As soon as he saw that she was conscious, he let loose.

 _"Alright! That's it! I am getting too old for these shenanigans, and so are the pair of you."_

From the wheelchair that had been pulled up next to her bed, Jack let out an astonished protest, _"Ol-?"_

 _"Shut up,"_ Dugan cut him off, scowling at him fiercely, as he growled, _"Yes, 'old'. Only young idiots in love nearly fubar a mission because their sweetheart is in harm's way. And since I can't trust the two of you to act like professionals, I – "_

At this accusation, Peggy struggled to sit up in order to better protest.

But Dum-Dum was having none of it.

With his bushy mustache practically bristling with indignant fury, he barked, **_Lay your ass back down, Director_** _. You and Stark made me Chief Tactical Officer so I got a right to speak my piece about mission tactics."_

Peggy lay back down, partially out of instinct to the drill-sergeant tone of voice and partially due to there being truth to his words. She also ignored Jack's worried frown, because she didn't think that she could hide from him how exhausted she still was too.

Seeing her acquiescence, Dugan continued with a grim sort of satisfaction, declaring, _"And speakin' of titles, even if whatever is – or allegedly isn't – going on between you two weren't happening, it has been remiss of me to let my Director and the Chief of Domestic Intelligence, or whatever fancy title you call yerself Thompson, go on missions together."_

Tired or not, his position's right to speak or not, Peggy did not like this observation one little bit, and Jack apparently didn't either, as he opened his mouth to argue just as she did.

Over their babbling objections of _"We aren't – "_ and _"What makes you - ?"_ and _"Even if that were… we can still – "_ , Dum-Dum decreed:

 _"So no more."_

And then he spun on his heel and left.

Leaving the two of them to stare at each other with mouths agape and 'What now?' expressions.

~ _Now_ ~

"Well, that scar on my left knee…" Jack began, returning to her earlier question.

She gave herself a mental head shake to clear away the fog from her trip down memory lane, before quietly prompting, "Yeah?"

"Well, I was at Cornell and played for their baseball team, right before the war, and I got that pretty little souvenir sliding into home," he drawled with smug satisfaction.

Peggy smiled. This was one of the few times that she found his smugness endearing. In this moment, he was grinning like a proud schoolboy which she found utterly adorable.

The warmth of her fond affection and the relief that she had been experiencing at the fading of those unpleasant memories flooded her body, turning it into a _very_ different kind of heat.

Her hand trailed from his hip, but not down to caress the knee in question, but in a different _southerly_ direction.

Jack drew in a sharp breath and held himself utterly still. And with each inch that she covered, she could both hear and feel his heart thud faster in anticipation.

Upon reaching her destination, she looked up at him beneath her dark eyelashes to huskily ask, "And are you ready to slide on home again?"

It was a silly question for both its ridiculous innuendo and for the fact that she could obviously feel the evidence for his state of readiness in her hands. But she rather reveled in the effect that her words had on him.

He shuddered beneath her touch, this time not in horror at a painful memory, but in ecstasy. And then he was rolling them over and reversing their positions.

From above her and just before he rocked into her, he promised with equal huskiness, "Always."


	29. Promises

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** So I am going to kinda-sorta apologize (but not really) in advance for two character-injured one-shots being back-to-back. But apparently, my Muse latched onto two similar prompts and yet insisted on two different story lines. So more Cartson, eh?

And thanks to the demand for a follow-up to 'You or Me, Me and You' from **what-is-a-social-life** and her inspiring prompt: _'Maybe a Jarvis/Ana style hospital scene? ... Or maybe Peggy crosses a line in Dottie's mind and Jack is used to make her pay for it?',_ this story was born.

There is also a wee gift for my fellow _Mentalist_ fans. Enjoy.

* * *

 **Promises**

* * *

"We got her, Peg. Locked up, with the world safe and sound. And since you're here too busy playing Sleeping Beauty, there is no way she is breaking out of custody this time."

Rose sat outside her Director's hospital room and stared at the clock above the nurses' station, doing her very best to blink back her tears and not eavesdrop on the one-sided conversation behind her.

She quickly realized that she could only be successful at one, and since she needed clear vision so that she could protect Peggy Carter from any possible 'friends' of that Underwood-bitch, she chose the former.

"…I have never hit a woman in anger before. I have wanted to throttle you a time or two. You drive me that crazy at times. I have defended myself against Dottie, but it was never out of anger, or at least not yet. I nearly did today though. I asked her _why_ , and that – that _woman_ just – just _smirked_ and said that I should ask you."

Rose cringed in sympathy at the anguish that she heard in the last word. Because of course, Chief Thompson couldn't. Peggy had yet to wake up, and the doctors were worried about her slipping into a coma.

For a while, he said nothing. The only sounds she could hear from the room was the steady patter of the rain hitting the window and the whirring and beeping of the various medical machines, and then there was a hoarse, agonized whisper of:

"Why, Peggy? I know she has promised to be the one to kill you and has promised that ever since Kaliningrad. But she has never made any real serious attempts, even when she had a chance. So why now? Why on our wedding day?"

It hadn't really been on Peggy and Jack's wedding day. Since Underwood's threats had amped up after their engagement announcement, the two of them had decided to 'elope'.

They had 'secretly' petitioned for a Justice of the Peace to perform the ceremony with Rose and Daniel being their two witnesses as a ploy to draw her out into the open.

Their clever plan had worked all too well.

Rose herself had asked Peggy why she thought Underwood went practically rabid at the idea of her marrying Jack. Her friend had attempted to explain that _'Dottie does not want me to be happy'_ and _'She thinks that I will go soft and be of no use to her; assets and agents who are of no use were eliminated from the Red Academy where she was indoctrinated, you see'_.

Rose hadn't seen, but she hadn't needed to. Her Director had seen and had been right as per usual.

At the moment that the Justice had asked if anyone objected to the union, a flash-bang grenade had come soaring through the chamber's window that they all had been careful to avoid in case of a sniper shot, and a heartbeat later, Dottie Underwood had vaulted in right along after it.

She had shoved the Justice of the Peace, who had once been a Marine, back into his bookshelf. She had swept the legs right out from under Daniel, and then had spun up and kicked Rose in the solar plexus knocking the wind out of her, much to her chagrin, before jabbing Jack with some paralyzing agent, forcing him to watch helplessly as she had duked it out with Peggy.

She and Daniel had tried to give assistance when they could, amidst all the rapid exchanges of punches and kicks, but after getting in the way one too many times, Peggy had waved them off.

And then to all of their horror, during the whirling dervish that was their dance of death, the pair of them had fallen out of the broken fourth story window.

Fortunately, there had been several tree branches and the canvas top of a newspaper stand below, which had broken their fall. Underwood of all the rotten luck had managed to only be stunned. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that had been waiting on the ground floor in preparation for her expected storm-the-castle grand entrance had easily been able to apprehend her.

But Peggy, despite or perhaps because of all that 'cushioning', had hit her head, and she had needed to be taken to the nearest trauma center where they had performed some kind of procedure to relieve the swelling on her brain.

According the surgeon, it had been a successful operation. However, she had yet to wake up.

Rose was pulled from her reverie by Thompson's derisive snort.

"I can't believe I am talking to you like this. I am told that you can hear me, but I wonder if that is a whole lot of hogwash just to make me feel better somehow."

Again there was a nearly silent pause, which was eventually broken by his heavy sigh. "But since I am usually wrong, which if you really can hear me I am sure you would love to point out right about now, I am going to keep at it."

And he did.

At this point, Rose was extremely relieved that Ana Jarvis had managed to talk her distraught husband into joining her for a cup of tea down in the cafeteria. She prayed that the woman would use her wifely-wiles to keep him occupied as Jack continued.

"…I gotta say this, Marge. I don't know if this will motivate you to wake up or send you running deeper into Morpheus's arms, but I called and let your parents know some of what happened, and they are on their way. So, listen up, sweetheart, you got a deadline to rise and shine to because _I am not_ telling your mother all by myself that we already eloped last week, and that my priest of a friend married us in the backroom of our favorite hole-in-the-wall bar."

 _Holy cow._ If Peggy didn't wake up before then, she would wake up a widow – because Jack Thompson was a dead man walking.

"Since our nuptials were a bit rushed, as you are one determined woman Peggy Carter-Thompson, I did not get to write my own vows like I wanted to. And if your mother lets me live long enough so that we can do the wedding that she wants for you, there is no way that I am saying any of this in front of her multitude of guests."

She could hear him take a deep steadying breath, before beginning.

"So here I go. One, I vow to…"

~A~

"Do you think they'll make it?"

"Of course, she will. Miss Carter – I mean, _Mrs. -_ is a strong woman, and she has walked away from much worse, if all of Mr. Stark's war stories are true," Ana answered her husband reassuringly.

"From the stuff I have witnessed in our little adventures, I have no doubt of _that_. But no, I meant her and her _husband_ ," Edwin grimaced at that last word like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Setting aside her now empty tea cup, she eyed him for a bit. She wasn't sure why he was expressing his doubts now, after all that had been said and done. Perhaps, this was easier for him to voice than his friend's uncertain fate.

Whatever the reason, she could only give him the honest truth, so she replied, "I believe they will. I don't think I would have agreed to witness their actual union otherwise."

Her husband frowned. Perhaps, he regretted that he had done so despite his qualms. But she didn't think he did. If she had learned one thing from being with her husband as he faithfully served Howard Stark, he valued loyalty almost more than anything else. He would have seen it as his duty to support his friend in her hour of need, even if he could not wholeheartedly agree.

"I wish I could have been more confident," he confessed with a sigh, before fixing her with a searching gaze. "How do you know? He's so – so – "

"Rough around the edges?" she supplied helpfully.

Edwin harrumphed at her word choice, so clearly he thought it a grand understatement, but was not going to belabor the point.

Biting back her amusement, she returned to his earlier question, "Because, I have seen the look on his face when he looks at her."

When all her dear Mr. Jarvis could do was look back at her in sheer puzzlement, she kindly explained, "It's the same look you give me," and then reaching over to gently caress the back of his hand, she added, "Like you would give me the world."

~A~

"…I vow to never dismiss your opinion because you are a woman. Your intuition is as good if not better than my own gut instinct," he began.

He had to stop again and look away. When he had envisioned saying this all to her, he had imagined her eyes dancing with mischief or amusement and her mouth twitching with the suppressed urge to say 'Damn straight'. Even her calm, impassive, and stoic expression that she put on to help maintain her sense of dignity and British composure would have been welcome.

But this – this unresponsive shell of the vibrant woman he loved – was unbearable.

But he had to get these words out. If he didn't and the worst was to happen, he would hate himself forever for not saying it when there was a slim chance she could have heard it.

So he stared at the hand that he held in his instead as he continued.

"I vow to honor and obey you at work, my Director, to cherish you at home, my wife, and to respect you always."

"I will never expect you to fetch my coffee or slippers because it is your wifely duty, and I will always be grateful when you do. And I will willingly return the favor."

"I will eat my vegetables when you do deign to cook, and I will share my top-shelf whiskey when we both have had a god-awful day."

He stopped again to desperately swallow. God, he wanted a double-shot of _something_ right about now, but he wanted to drink it _with_ her and not at her wake. Just the thought of the possibility of that – of celebrating Peggy's life with her friends and family without ever having the chance of celebrating their love for one another first – caused that clogging lump in his throat to swell.

Eventually, he managed to whisper, "I also promise not to mock your friends, even when they are pompous wise-guys like Stark."

He felt Peggy's hand twitch in his, causing him to glance up eagerly to check for some sign of consciousness.

But no, her eyes remained closed, her face pale and still, and her breathing shallow.

He knew that the muscle twitch must have been that 'involuntary movement' that the silver-haired nurse had warned him of, but it was more than he could take.

"Goddammit! I vow to – to – I don't know, whatever it is that will make you wake up! Please, Marge, just wake up."

He clasped her hand between his and held it to his head, careful to not jostle the I.V. in her hand, while he prayed to God, His Virgin Mother, and any and all the saints that he could recall.

He was transitioning from Saint Jude, patron saint of lost causes, to Michael the Archangel, patron saint of soldiers, when the hand twitched again and there was a wheezy sigh of:

"Fine, if you insist."

He jerked his head up in surprise, amazement, and joy practically giving himself a case of whiplash at the sound of her voice.

She smiled tentatively at him, and her eyes were open – big and wide and beautiful.

 _And_ they weren't rapidly blinking at the sudden exposure to light.

Scowling at her, he suspiciously asked, "How long have you been awake?"

"I don't know. I was kind of in and out of it for a bit," she admitted softly. "But after the coffee and slippers, I was kind of holding out for a pony. Ana got a Bernese mountain dog out of her injuries."

"Christ, Marge, a pony?" he asked incredulously.

Peggy shrugged one of her shoulders, but it was a stiff movement, causing her unabashed grin to turn into a grimace.

He noticed, like he did all her micro-expressions, but he wasn't about to coddle her, not after what she had just put him through. With an irritated growl, he declared, "You're evil, and all you're going to get is a sadistic nurse with a fondness for needles."

His Marge halted his movement to call the nurse with a quiet: "But you love me anyways, don't you, Jack?"

He knew she had meant it to come out as a saucy taunt, but there was a hint of vulnerability in her question that he could not let stand.

"For better or worse, sweetheart," he answered, before leaning down and kissing the woman that was both the bane of his existence and his salvation.

~A~

 _Several weeks later…_

Peggy thanked all of her well-wishers once again before heading back to her office.

She had been avoiding it all day. It was bound to be stacked sky-high with mountains of paperwork that required her signature, so instead of facing the music that had to be a slow dirge, she had spent the morning welcoming and observing the new trainees and the afternoon observing a few interrogations and taking a few meetings in the conference room.

She had also wanted to spend some of her first day back with her husband, at least for lunch, but she had not seen him all day, which was rather odd and more than a bit aggravating, as she had seen everyone else from the janitor to her chief forensics expert, all eager to welcome her back. But no husband.

So when she spotted the red bow on her door, she had half-expected to see Jack lounging in her office chair with his feet up on her desk.

She certainly hadn't been expecting to see Jack crouching off to the side, camera at the ready to capture her shocked and delighted face.

For shocked, flabbergasted, and delighted she was.

Because there in the middle of her office, munching on a pile of hay – was a little roan-colored pony.


	30. Open Mouth, Retract Foot

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This was inspired by a prompt from **booboo12361015** : ' _Jack makes Peggy cry and then he feels horrible about it.'_

Enjoy.

* * *

 **Open Mouth, Retract Foot**

* * *

"You aren't like pregnant, are you?"

Jack immediately regretted his question, because while it had been effective in stopping his wife's torrent of tears, the ominous silence that followed indicated that his chances of surviving this conversation had just dropped next to nil.

After a few moments in which she slowly blinked away her tears (and her disbelief at either his daring or stupidity), Peggy replied coolly, "No. I had my – _ahem_ – last week."

Not seeing any way out but through, Jack swallowed nervously and asked, "Well then, wh-?"

Peggy, however, was not going to make it easy on him.

"Don't you dare say that _this_ ," she warned in icy tones, waving at her tear-streaked and be-splotched face, "is because of hormones or female _anything_."

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but in the last moment wisely reconsidered, and shut it again. He took a deep breath (or two or three to be on the safe side) and tried again, much more tactfully.

"Okay, one, you are right. That was a thoughtless asshole thing of me to say, and I could have said that better. I apologize."

He waited hopefully for a sign of Peggy's forgiveness, but when she all she did was scowl at him, he continued, "Two, I wasn't trying to dismiss your emotions as female hysterics – pregnant or otherwise. You just caught me by surprise. You don't usually burst into tears like that because of some jackass comment of mine, at least not since you were pregnant with Ellie."

Sensing that he was skating on even thinner ice here, he swiftly added, "I just want to understand what's wrong. It seems like there is more to _this_ than my foot-in-mouth syndrome." He concluded this little speech by reaching over and lovingly cupping her tear-stained face, stroking away the dewy remnants with his thumb.

Peggy sniffed and then grumbled, "Again, you could have phrased it better."

He was not at all fazed by her overly gruff manner. He had learned by now that it was a sign that she was beginning to thaw. So he ignored her tone, tucked her hair behind her ear, and kissed top of her forehead, before softly asking, "Will you let me try again?"

His fierce wife nodded but clearly still looked skeptical, as she waited with her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised.

Pulling on all his silver tongue wiles, he began again.

While holding her hand, he concernedly asked, almost pleadingly, "Marge darling, what's wrong? This seems like more than just about the soup. What happened today?"

~A~

Peggy eyed Jack and carefully assessed the sincerity of his interested gaze.

After a few moments, she decided that even if part of his motivations for asking her now what he should have asked then was due to wanting to get back into her good graces, it didn't matter. He was asking her now, and he did genuinely want to know.

So she began her tale of woe:

"It started last night with the late night conference call with Colonel Phillips. Well, no, what's wrong probably started with the fact that Ellie has not wanted to go to sleep any night that you have not called to tell her a bed time story, and last night was the first night that she had and I couldn't take advantage of it, because the Colonel needed to discuss the Sandberg case to the minutest detail into the wee hours of the morning. _And then_ , Ellie wouldn't get up this morning."

She appreciated Jack's sympathetic grimace, but now that she had started she couldn't seem to stop.

"To compound matters, Barb, whom Rose had promised would be on time rain or shine, was running late because the trains were behind schedule with all the ice on tracks after the snow storm, which had, fortunately or unfortunately, not managed to damage the phone lines. In any case, I had the choice between delaying getting things done by battling my way through the icy streets myself or working from home."

Jack didn't need her to tell him why the latter was not at all optimal, but _since he asked_ , she was going to take full advantage and thoroughly enjoy her pity party.

"I stayed home, and that caused all sorts of issues, both expected and unexpected, as I tried to delegate tasks to Daniel or post-pone all those things that I couldn't, and not to mention I now needed to have Barb take Ellie out of the house all day, so that I could get all of this work done. Thankfully that local library with the wonderful kids section was open, or I don't know what we would have done."

After saying a silent prayer of gratitude for those blessedly understanding librarians, Peggy took a few moments to relish the comfort of having Jack's reassuring touch and steady blue gaze, because now she had reached the moment of when the last straw broke her proverbial camel's back.

She took a deep breath in the hopes that it would clear out the rising emotions, but much to her dismay and annoyance she could still hear the tremor in her voice as she shared:

"And then while I was waiting for the mission updates, I had to keep the lines open so I couldn't order dinner in for us tonight. My oh-so-clever solution was to take a stab at cooking dinner – because why not? I had an inconvenient amount of time on my hands – and while I was deciding what to do I had the Josie woman's voice in my head…"

As soon as she mentioned the woman's name, Jack cringed – and rightly so, because Josie is the happy home-maker wife of his 'good old college buddy' and he had unthinkingly invited them over for dinner one evening without warning her. After that fiasco, Jack had forever referred to Mrs. Parsons as 'that blasted woman', and she had never reprimanded him for it, because the woman had unceasingly talked of how she makes her husband happy and had repeatedly stated that she 'just couldn't imagine' how Peggy managed to juggle a career and be a mother and wife.

Her shrewd husband could now see where this was going, but didn't interrupt her. He simply soothingly stroked the back of her hand with his thumb and waited for her to spill her frustrations all out.

And she did.

" _That woman_ talked of how when your friend Tom is sick or away from home on a business trip, she makes him his favorite childhood dish. And you had been gone for so many weeks tracking down Zagana and had gotten sick while you were there, and I just wanted to do something special for you as a welcome home gift. Chicken and Dumpling soup like your grandmother's should have been simple enough right? Well, apparently not."

And with a defeated shrug of her shoulders, Peggy concluded, "So now I know that I am a failure at being a wife, mother, and a Director."

"You're not a – "

Peggy immediately cut off his sweet but unfounded protest, arguing, "I can't cook," and when he looked like he was going to interrupt her, she blazed on, pulling her hands from his to tick off her evidence on her fingers as she listed each one.

"I can't get my child out of bed in the morning without wanting to resort to hogtying her like some perp."

"I have to send her away because her wanting my attention and wanting to snuggle with me is too distracting."

"I am pretty sure that I ordered Sanchez to go to Grenada island instead of Granada, Spain because I am so tired and frazzled."

"And I know the other intelligence agency Directors don't struggle with balancing their home life and work like this. Howard should just find a new Director, because Josie Parsons is right. I can't juggle all of this."

~A~

Jack stared at his wife in horrified amazement. She was normally so self-assured that it made him at times feel insecure about his own insecurities.

While it was nice to know that she had clay feet like the rest of her fellow mere mortals, he couldn't have her thinking like this. If she was going to admit that she was fallible, it was his prerogative as her partner to damn well make sure she was confessing to crimes that she had actually committed.

"One, Josie Parsons can choke on her 'perfectly' fermented mint julep tea," he growled, furious on her behalf that The Blasted Woman's remarks had even a toe-hold on Peggy's well-deserved self-confidence.

When he saw that this earned him a small watery smile, he more softly consoled, "And that is one shit-storm of a day on top of an already hellish sounding week."

That earned him a slightly wider smile, so with a smirk, he held up three fingers and began mimicking her listing method, stating, "Thirdly, it's ridiculous to compare yourself to these intelligence directors. One is a confirmed bachelor, who lived with his mother for years, and the other, while married, is a known serial adulterer. Unless there is some Casanova that I got to be worried about, you got those two fellas beat by a mile on the balance of personal life and career."

His Marge rolled her eyes and reached for his hands again, giving them a reassuring squeeze as she murmured, "You got nothing to worry about. You are more than enough for me to handle."

Jack shot her a speculative look, but decided to take her remark as a compliment, interweaving his fingers with hers as he continued his counter-argument.

"As for your Grenada-Granada error, Agent Sanchez was smart enough to catch your error, right?"

When Peggy nodded, he asserted, "And that's because you picked the best and brightest and had them trained well. No harm, no foul, except for maybe your ego."

His wife accepted this with a chagrined smile, but he hadn't thought it would take her much convincing on that point. Director Margaret Carter knows her business and did her job well. No, the part that was going to take much more convincing involved the home front.

With a calculated casual shrug, he dismissed her fitness-for-motherhood concern, "And every mother wants to hogtie their recalcitrant child at some point. I know that after Duct Tape was invented both my mother and my grandmother lamented that it wasn't around when I, my cousins, and my aunts were younger."

When Peggy opened her mouth to argue, it was his turn to interrupt her. Holding her gaze, he declared, " _The point is_ … you didn't. _And_ I am sure that when she got back and before she went down for her nap, you managed to squeeze in some Ellie-and-Mumsy time."

He was pleased to see a happy light glow within his Marge's dark brown eyes. It told them that his wife and daughter had had a 'Moment'. He only regretted that he had needed to be away for so long and had missed out on sharing it with them.

And now that he had sufficiently softened her up, it was time to tackle the tear-inducing Big One.

Nodding his head towards the remains of their dinner, which was growing increasingly cold, he admitted, "And yeah, there is no doubt about it - cooking isn't one of your amazing talents. _But_ while the soup is not like my grandmother's, it wasn't terrible either, Peg."

"'Not terrible' does not mean 'good'," Peggy scoffed.

" _Touché_ ," he conceded with a nod, "but it does mean that you're improving."

Peggy sure as hell could not argue with that. It was impossible not to recall some of her previous cooking attempts. 'Spectacular disasters' might be an understatement. There was the one in which the pressure cooker took out the oven overhead, the one in which she had attempted to make caramel and instead had molten lava destroying their best pot, and the one that his family had walked in on, in which the beer bread was taking over the oven. This less than savory soup was small potatoes in comparison.

"And more importantly, I married _you_ – not a Josie Parsons – because I didn't want to be the kind of husband who had to resort to tuning out his wife's seemingly inane prattle."

Because he knew his wife well, before she could leap to these kinds of women's defense and he was the bad guy again, he hastily amended, "Not that Josie's or any homemaker's stories are meaningless, but it's not the kind of conversations that you and I have and that I look forward to."

Much to his dismay, his sweet talk had not gotten him too far, because Peggy's eyebrows arched and she questioned skeptically, "So you married me for my mind, did you?"

Sensing a trap, he hedged warily, "It was a big factor, yeah."

"Well, I married you for when you actually _engage_ your mind."

Although she was looking at him rather expectantly, all he could do was gaze quizzically back at her.

Seeing that he had clearly missed her point, she took pity on him and smiled, as she magnanimously declared, "You did much better the second time around."

He not only sagged in relief at this proclamation, he took great satisfaction in the wide smile that was now spread across her beautiful tear-streaked face.

In his ebullience, he was unable to help himself, and he teased with a smirk, "Alright then, for future reference, when you next go away on a trip, is there a favorite childhood dish of yours that I could potentially screw up for you as a welcome home gift?"

He dodged the tossed slightly burnt biscuit, but he wasn't too worried. Judging by the provocative glint in her eye as she looked at him, he knew that he wouldn't be sleeping on the couch tonight – at least not alone.


	31. Trapped

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This was inspired by a prompt from **Jewelz1642** , who requested some pre-Cartson and for those who expressed appreciation for my adapting plot lines from _NCIS_ in my story Moments. For good measure, I also threw in some adapted _Castle_ plot lines too. Because Tiva, Caskett, Cartson - what's not to love?

 **Disclaimer:** In addition to not owning _Agent Carter_ or making any profit from it (see initial disclaimer), I also in no way own or profit from _NCIS_ or _Castle_. Those belong to the peeps at CBS and ABC respectively.

Enjoy.

* * *

 **Trapped**

* * *

 ** _November 1948, Pine Tree Ski Slopes, Vermont…_**

"So where did you learn to – "

Jack's question was cut off by a sudden loud wrenching sound followed by the abrupt halt of their lift, which swayed violently as they dangled in the air.

"What the hell?!" he exclaimed loudly, and before his companion could reply, he skewered the overly calm and seemingly unperturbed Peggy Carter with a withering glance, as he ordered, "And don't you dare say the obvious – _'We have stopped, Jack'_."

Agent Peggy Carter rolled her eyes and retorted, "Your British accent needs some work, and all I was going to suggest was that you ask our ground support team."

Jack's scowl deepened further and there was a faint flush of embarrassment to his cheeks, but he did pull out his radio without further comment to her.

"What's the deal, boys?"

There was a burst of static, and then Wallace's voice: _"Uh, Chief, the managers here are sayin' that they are havin' technical difficulties."_

"Are they _sayin'_ how long it will be?"

 _"No…but they are moving as fast as they can."_

Peggy, who had been listening while peering through her binoculars, turned to Jack and said, "Although he is three cars ahead of us, it looks like our quarry is stuck in the same situation as us. We might be able to take advantage of this."

It took a half a second for Jack to catch on, but when he did, he shared a predatory smile with Carter before ordering over the radio, "Send a welcoming party for our little black market dealing kingpin. And let our hosts know that there is no rush on those repairs until you boys are in place to greet him properly."

 _"Will do, Chief."_

After Jack had tucked away the radio with a satisfied grin, Peggy stated, "Well, it's a good thing this is an enclosed gondola. We should be able to keep warm if the repairs take awhile."

Jack grunted. He hadn't thought of how uncomfortable he was going to get during this little delay. It was not going to be a fun wait.

Peggy too must have realized that they were going to be bored out of their minds while others took up the hunt, because she opted for small talk and returned to his earlier question. "I learned to ski during the war. You can't trek all over the Western Front without picking up a skill like that."

Jack thought about asking her who it was that taught her, but imagining her cozying up to pretty boy ski instructors by a lodge fire after a lesson or doing the same with Captain America after she tutored him was enough to turn his stomach. So instead his big fat mouth decided to pop off a different question to while away the time.

"You know, my Gam-Gam has got a friend, who would say this is the 'Universe' trying to tell us something."

Carter stared at him wide-eyed for a few moments, in probable disbelief at the absurdity and randomness of his comment, but then she went with the flow and snorted, replying, "And what, pray tell, is the 'Universe' attempting to communicate?"

Trying not to blush and keep his tone only mildly amused, he stated, "Well, you tell me. We have been locked together in small confined spaces two or three times before this…"

This time, Carter did not just stop at snorting her amusement. This time, her shoulders were visibly shaking as she vainly attempted to stifle her laughter.

"Are you – trying to – suggest that the cosmos – are pulling some – some boarding school prank?"

At his questioning look, her laughter subsided enough to allow her to elaborate, "At my boarding school, at least, when there were students who possibly liked each other but were too shy to do anything about it, their alleged friends would shove them into broom cupboards and lock them in until they kissed."

At her faint blush, Jack could not help himself but smirk and ask, "And did you ever find yourself on the receiving end of such a prank? Or were you one of the pranksters?"

He suspected that it was more likely the former due to her use of 'alleged', but he had added the latter, just for good measure.

"I would not do such a mortifying thing to a friend," she bristled, and then pulling her nose out of the air, she fixed him with a deadly expression, as she asserted, "And no one was fool enough to shove _me_ into a locked closet."

Pushing aside the image of a young Peggy Carter launching herself out of a closet at said fool like an angry hissing cat from a bag, he huffed, "Yeah, it's too bad that you can't kick the Universe's ass."

Staring out at the white snowy landscape sprawled out below them, Peggy grumbled, "If I could, I would do it for far more reasons than just getting trapped in places like this with you for the fourth time running."

"Fourth, really?" he asked surprised.

Carter looked at him with a puzzled expression for a few moments before holding up her fingers and counting, "Well, yes, there was that time in the elevator…"

~A~

 ** _Nearly two years ago, December 1946, S.S.R. New York Branch…_**

"I'm so glad we broke S.O.P. and took the elevator. Whose genius idea was that anyway?" Jack grunted, while he swayed beneath the well-muscled weight of Peggy Carter.

There was no reply from the woman, just her furious pounding against the elevator ceiling hatchway. Of course, for Peggy Carter to admit that she had made a mistake in assuming that the S.S.R.'s back-up generator was up for the challenge of handling earthquakes and its aftershocks when the primary one hadn't would have taken a far more skilled hypnotist than even Johann Fennhoff.

As Carter pushed with all her might, thus crushing his skull between her powerful thighs, Jack did his very best to think of something else – anything else. What his poor-compressed brain managed to spew out was –

"Princess Python!"

"What?" Carter asked in confusion.

"The assassin. You know, Zodiac's killer-for-hire, Zelda DuBois. She's famous for killing men by squeezing her muscular, well-shaped thighs," he explained, almost unconsciously stroking the navy pants-clad legs that were draped over his shoulders.

Thankfully, Carter didn't seem to notice or she magnanimously ignored his less than gentlemanly actions, as she grumbled, "At least her perverted victims died happy, I suppose."

Before he could reply, her legs' strangle-hold around him tightened as she resumed her seemingly futile pounding. "I'm almost…there."

And for a moment, when there was a scraping sound of metal on metal, he thought that she had succeeded, but when she collapsed back down on him and there was an ominous rumble from above, his hopes were dashed.

"It's jammed, and we're stuck," Carter admitted defeat, lacing her fingers in his blond locks to steady herself.

"Oh, that's a pity. I was beginning to enjoy this," he unthinkingly quipped.

What saved him from the wrath of Agent Carter was yet another aftershock, which caused him to stumble and Peggy to topple from his shoulders.

"We slipped," Peggy gasped as she steadied herself against him.

"Oh, that wasn't the tectonic plates shifting again for the third time?" he queried softly as he looked into her wide brown eyes. He had meant it to be a scathing reply, but there was something in the way she was looking at him that prevented him from being his usual jackass-self.

When he thought that they might be staring into each other's eyes for an eternity, Peggy finally observed, "You're shivering."

It took him a moment, but he realized that he was. In trying to restore his equilibrium, he gruffly retorted, "Well, Carter, it is the middle of the winter in New York. The power's off, so the heat's not on. In case you can't do the math – that means it is damn chilly in here."

"Huh, I had not noticed."

Jack glanced down at her again and realized that there was a sheen of sweat on her forehead.

Seemingly unable to help himself, he brushed her damp hair out of her face, as he murmured, "I guess, with all that _pushing and squeezing_ , you had quite the workout."

Jack never found out what Carter's reaction would be because there was a sudden grinding noise, the elevator doors were pried open, and Ramirez's shit-eating grin was greeting them as he teased:

"Well, doesn't this look… _cozy_?"

~ _T_ _he Ski Lift_ ~

"Huh, yeah. I always forget about the elevator," Jack mused.

"It doesn't seem as quite as life threatening, in comparison to the others, I suppose."

He huffed a small unamused laugh at her theory as memories of their other 'broom cupboard incidents' came to mind.

"Truer words have not been spoken."

~A~

 ** _A little over a year ago, October 1947, New York City docks…_**

 _Rata-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!_

"Get inside!" Jack yelled, shoving Peggy into the dock container that they had just opened, while he returned fire to the shady dockworkers that they had stumbled upon.

He took down at least one of them.

As soon as she was in, he followed after her, using the metal doors as a shield from the spray of bullets of the remaining men.

Unfortunately for the both of them, the workers got the brilliant idea to quit shooting at them long enough to lock them in the container.

At the sudden loud clanking of the doors being locked into place, both Jack and Peggy let out simultaneous curses.

Although their situation was dire, Jack couldn't help but mockingly rebuke, "Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. I wouldn't have dreamed you even knew such un-ladylike language, Marge."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, _Jackie-boy_ ," she retorted back with the hated nickname.

"Yeah, like whom you will and will not invite to a birthday party of yours," he muttered, still more than a bit miffed about that.

While they had been following up on a tip about arms dealing at the docks and before they had discovered their smugglers-turned-captors, the two of them had been arguing over his lack of invitation. The Howling Commandos that were in town on leave had gotten invited. Ramirez, Wallace, Fisher, and even little Palmer had gotten asked to join them for a few rounds of celebratory drinks - but he hadn't.

And her defense that his being the boss would have made it awkward? That was a bunch of malarkey.

Peggy ignored his return to the argument, and instead, she took in the remains of the operation that they had interrupted.

In the dim light coming through the container's vents, Jack could see that there were only a third or less of the amount of crates that the container could normally hold.

"What are the odds that our dear smugglers will abandon this lot as a lost cause and leave us here to rot?" Jack asked.

"Pretty high," Peggy shrugged. "But the rest of our team will come and find us before then."

"I know Ramirez is legendary for his tracking abilities, Carter, but do you think he'll be able to manage it in time before we freeze to death in here?"

As if to emphasize his point, their breath became visible in the chilly autumn air.

~.~

"Why in the world are we being shot at over a bunch of Sophie Lennon records?"

"Who?" Peggy asked distractedly as she continued to prowl the confines of their prison.

Jack glanced up, unable to keep the shock from his face, "Sophie Lennon? War time comedic genius? 'Put that on your plate!'?"

When she continued to look at him blankly, he rolled his eyes.

Apparently, 'not appreciating his attitude' as his mother would say, she retorted, "Does it even matter? Isn't the more pressing issue getting out of here?"

Catching a note of hysteria in her voice that he had never heard before, Jack glanced up and eyed her suspiciously. He noted that not only was she prowling the container like a caged tigress, but she was also looking a bit like a nervous greenie in the trenches, with her trigger finger twitching rapidly and her eyes darting to and fro.

That had _never_ been a good sign.

He hesitantly asked, "Peggy? You don't happen to be claustrophobic do you?"

She didn't seem to hear him, as she kept muttering almost to herself, "I wonder if we could blow through this door… right at where the bolt is, maybe?"

Jack moved around the crates as fast as he could, ordering hastily, "Don't even think about it, Car-!"

But he was not quick enough, she fired the shot and his worst fear happened – the bullet went ricocheting.

He managed just in time to dive out of the way, tackling Peggy in the process.

When silence fell indicating that the coast was clear, he lifted his head just enough that he could look down into her face as he noted dryly, "As I was trying to say, Carter. Small metal confines. Small projectiles. Physics. Ricochets. And Death."

"Sorry, Jack."

He nodded his acceptance of her apology, but didn't move. He got distracted by her lips. Even in the faint pale afternoon light, he could tell that they were her favorite dark shade of red. And he wondered if his lips 'accidentally' brushed hers, if he would pass out, or if something far more promising were to …

"Jack?" Peggy asked a little bit loudly.

"Yeah?" he answered, somehow managing to drag his gaze from her tempting mouth to her dark eyes.

"Thanks for saving my life from my own stupidity, but you can get off me now."

Jack shot off of her like she was an ordinance about to explode.

To hide his embarrassment, he leaned against a nearby crate and waited for her to get to her feet on her own, and then because he genuinely wished to know, he asked: "So what exactly is your problem with small dark places?"

He didn't think that he was going to get a response, at least not a non-evasive one, but then she surprised him, as she admitted quietly, "I had an … _experience_ in the war of being locked in a cell. Let's just say, that it wasn't a good one."

~.~

Sensing that Peggy hadn't wished to discuss the matter further, Jack had returned to his exploration of the container, the crates, and their contents.

After about twenty or thirty minutes, which included some of his own pacing, he turned to Peggy and asked, "Does this space seem odd to you?"

"Define 'odd'."

"Odd, you know, unusual. Like it's unusually small for a dock container."

One of the best things about Peggy was that she didn't scoff at observations like these. Instead of making some quip about how he was the now claustrophobic one, she got up and paced the container for herself.

When she reached the back wall, she rapped it with her knuckles. Instead of a metallic ring, there was a dull wooden _hollow_ thunk.

They grinned at each other, and as one they kicked dead center of the plywood, creating a jagged splintered hole.

Upon peeking in and discovering more crates – crates that probably did not contain comedy records, Peggy declared, "Not bad. I think I might find it in myself to forgive you."

Taken aback, Jack asked defensively, "For what?"

"For getting us stuck in here."

~.~

The hidden crates had been filled with counterfeit bills. Enough bills to fund any number of Zodiac or Hydra operations.

This discovery meant that their assumption that the smugglers would not be back had been dead wrong.

As soon as Carter realized this, she went into a frenzy of activity. She was moving crates and stacking their pallets and ordering him about to do the same so that they could create as much of a defensible barricade as they could muster.

When all that was done, the hours had dragged on from there. They placed bets, using the fake dough, on whether the smugglers would return and open the container here at the docks or move them to another location. (They agreed that being moved was more likely).

They bet on the likelihood of being moved by boat, truck, or train. (He wagered 50 'phony G's' on a boat. She favored a train, and they both prayed for a truck).

And when they got really morbid, they bet on how long they could make their ammo last and their barricades hold before they were cut down if no cavalry arrived.

"I think we'll last an even 12 minutes," he declared tossing two fat stacks in their 'pot'.

Peggy tossed three in and boasted confidently, "You'll last seven minutes, the barricade will last 12, and I'll last a good 13."

"Seven?!" he cried in mock outrage. "Why will you last nearly twice as long as me?"

With a disconcerting smirk, she declared, "Because there is twice as much ego for them to shoot at."

His squawk of protest was cut off when their container was lifted up and loaded onto a moving vehicle.

Without hesitation, they began to stuff the bills through the vents in order to leave a trail for potential rescuers to find.

After a few repeated stops and starts and ninety-degree turns, they realized that their prayers had been answered. It had been a truck bed, and not a train car or boat, that they had been loaded onto. This meant that their breadcrumb trail of bogus bucks had a higher likelihood of being spotted by someone.

Unfortunately for them, it hadn't been before they arrived at their captors' destination.

Once the container's doors were finally opened, they were greeted by a ring of men with guns, and not warm fuzzy blankets.

The one in the center called out: "Will you come out peaceably? Or will you be coming out in pieces?"

Both he and Peggy knew that their only hope was to make as much of a ruckus as possible and stall until the hoped-for cavalry arrived, so without bothering to even look at each other, they opened fire.

~.~

 _Rata-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!_

"How many rounds are you down to?"

"Five," Peggy replied, and then she popped off another shot at a fella who was getting too close for comfort, so she amended, "Four, but it doesn't matter. I think the only reason these barricades have lasted this long is because their Tommy-gun keeps getting jammed up."

"So don't you say that it is time for a new tactic?"

When Peggy glanced over and saw him holding up a stack of bills and a packet of matches, her eyes widened in horror.

With his free hand, he patted her shoulder and gently mocked, "Oh ye of little faith."

And then he was calling out, "We've got your money! And I gotta say it is _burning_ a hole in my pocket!"

The gunfire stopped.

To Jack's battle-deafened ears, he could hear faint mutterings from the remaining men, and when he caught the word 'bluff', he struck a match and lit one of the stacks of counterfeit bills on fire before tossing it like a grenade into the smugglers' midst.

"Stop! Stop!" bellowed the leader. "What do you want? A cut? A quick death? Surrender and I'll – "

"You surrender to me? Aces! I accept!" Jack called out jovially.

Peggy was staring at him like he was a mad man. Perhaps he was. But at least he was not the man that he had once been, frozen in fear.

When the leader pointed out that he and his men could kill them faster than even half of the money could burn, Peggy whispered, "He's right you know."

Jack couldn't take the time to reply, because they were being shot at again. Peggy fired all four of her rounds, but it had not been in vain, because the men paused long enough for him to call out, "Geez! Guys, if you don't quit pissing my partner off, she'll make sure there are fewer of you to enjoy your tidy profit here! Give me a few minutes to talk her down!"

"Me?" Peggy hissed. "I don't have any more rounds."

He passed her his gun, "Here, I've got six."

"I'm not taking that, Jack."

"You are," he hissed right back with as a forbidding of a glower as he could muster. "You're the better shot."

When she made to protest, he added, "And that's an order, _Agent_ Carter."

Peggy took the gun, whispering hoarsely, "Thanks, Jack. And I'm sorry that I didn't invite you to my party."

Before he could reply, there was a sudden clattering of booted feet and the booming voice of Ramirez over a megaphone, "You are surrounded. Drop your weapons!"

Peggy's smile did not match his own, and as she shoved his gun back at him, he could hear her mutter:

"Couldn't he have come a damn bloody five seconds sooner?"

~A~

 ** _Four months ago, July 1948, warehouse district in New Jersey…_**

Jack came to and wished he hadn't.

His head was aching, and he was having flashbacks to his brief stint in the winter on the Western Front, which was all sorts of wrong. He had just been making Fourth of July plans with his family this morning, so it should have at least been his nightmarish time in the Pacific that he was being haunted by.

He opened his eyes with some difficulty, because his eyelids were frozen together, and he nearly died of a heart attack right there.

Lying next to him were two bodies. One of them was the decidedly lifeless corpse of Sonja Kiryanova, their missing too-good-to-be-true suspect, and the other was…

Peggy Carter.

After a few heartbeats, in which he thought, ' _This will be the one to break, the last one before it shatters into a million grief-stricken pieces_ ', she stirred.

He sat up when she did (Peggy, not the corpse), and they both glanced around, taking in their surroundings. When their eyes met, he knew that she was filled with as much horror as he was.

And for some messed up reason, that comforted him.

With a smirk that caused him to feel as if his face had cracked along with the thin layer of ice that had coated his stubble, he quipped:

"What is it with us and cold metal boxes?"

~.~

While Peggy explored the mechanism that operated the door of the meat locker that they found themselves trapped in, Jack examined the body of the late Ms. Kiryanova. Unsurprisingly, she had been done in by a blow to the back of the skull.

He supposed that he should be grateful that he and Carter had lived up to their reputations for having hard heads.

After covering Sonja with the tarp with far more care than her murderer had, he turned to Peggy and asked, "So what do you remember last?"

"You mean other than the bloody big bomb in the back of that baker's van?"

As Jack did not recall that bit, he found himself rubbing the back of his head and murmuring through chattering teeth, "Guess I was hit harder in the head than you were."

Peggy glanced at him concernedly, but he changed the subject with, "You think that big bad D.C. Agent Flynn realizes now that he is chasing the wrong Russian girl?"

"No," Peggy replied dismissively, as if she couldn't imagine the bureaucratic suit being able to find his way out of a wet paper bag. "And he won't unless we can escape from here."

"You got anything?" he asked hopefully.

Peggy shook her dark head and kicked at the door in frustration, "No, I don't. No thermostat. No control box. You?"

"Me?" he asked bemusedly.

"Yes, you," she prompted irritably. "You're the one with the radio."

He patted his pockets, before sighing, "Correction: I _was_ the one with the radio. It looks like they took that from me along with my gun."

Peggy's eyes widened, and she hastily began to pat herself down. Jack found his face warming with what little heat his body could produce, as she reached up under her skirt to pull out a little pistol from what he supposed was a thigh holster.

To distract himself, he asked, "How cold do you think it is?"

"Estimating by the way it feels? Freezing, if not below."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," he admitted morosely. He was unable to conceal his involuntary shiver, as he asked, "So what do you say? We have a couple of hours dressed like this?"

Peggy glanced from his lightweight pants and blazer set to her knee-length skirt, summery blouse, and cardigan, before confirming with a grimace, "At the most."

He nodded grimly and hugged his chest, so that his hands could be warmed in his armpits. He did one more futile check, glancing around to see if he had missed anything. When his gaze swung back, it was to see Peggy edgily fingering her gun and eyeing the door.

" _Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!_ Didn't we learn the last time? Steel box? Ricocheting bullets? Ring any bells?!"

Carter, not appreciating being scolded like a child, whipped around on him and argued, "Jack, who knows where we are?"

It was a rhetorical question. Nobody did. The two of them had followed one of Peggy's hunches without telling Flynn, as he would have dismissed it immediately considering its 'female' origins.

"That's right! No one! And if we don't get out of here, we're just going to be two more meat popsicles!"

As he stared at fierce Peggy Carter valiantly fighting down her rising panic, he swore that he would never be able to look at a tiger caged in a zoo the same way again – that is, if he ever got out of here.

With a deep steadying breath, he argued right back, "I'm not saying that we don't try to force our way out of here. I'm just saying that maybe instead of risking shooting ourselves in an attempt to shoot our way out, we try for a little bit of blunt force trauma to our shoulders first."

Peggy stared at him, her chest heaving for a few moments, before she stooped down and slipped the pistol into her now empty ankle holster. Once she straightened up, she smiled at him half-heartedly as she gamely replied, "Okay. At the very least the physical activity should help us fight off hypothermia."

"That's the spirit!" he clapped a hand to her shoulder, and then with yet another grim smile, he counted off, "One – two – three!"

~.~

"Carter, are you there?"

When he didn't get a response, he forced his arm to flex, the one that was wrapped around her shoulder, in order to jostle her awake.

She stirred just enough for her head to loll over and settle into the crook of his shoulder, as she murmured, "Yeah, here. I'm right here…C-can't go nowhere, c-can I?"

"Ya know, I used to wish tha-that you'd g-go. Anywhere b-but here," he chattered. "B-but now your n-not to go anywh-where without me, esp-pe-pecially this bl-bloody box."

He was grateful for Peggy's new position, because although there was no immediate response from her, he could still feel her breath on his neck.

Finally, she seemed to master up the energy to reply, "I'm not…g-going anywhere. But, Ja-ack?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm – I'm sorry."

"F-for what?"

"For be-being m-me. Going rogue and…drag-dragging you along – along with me. If we hadn't gone on our own, th-then – "

"No, no. Hush-sh-sh," he murmured, turning his head just enough so that he could whisper it into her hair, and as he attempted to vigorously rub her arm, he declared, "Th-that's just the cra-crazy cold t-talking."

"Jack, no. I'm r-right and you kn-know it."

"I know th-that you were right about the b-bomb. Th-they w-were just qui-icker and - and sn-sneakier." he argued.

There was a huff of annoyance, and then a faint, "Jack?"

"Yeah?"

Peggy didn't say anything for a few moments, but he felt her hand which had been sandwiched between their two bodies trail up his chest and neck, before caressing his cheek.

If she ever asked, his head nuzzling into the palm of her hand, only had to do with the fact that his face was seeking what warmth it could get.

"Th-thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For … being there…here…with me."

Jack responded the only way he could since their hunt for the man who had shot him in L.A. – truthfully.

"Always."

As he breathed out that one little word, her hand fell from his face, and even when he tried jostling her again, he got no response.

"Hey, Carter…Hey, stay w-with me n-now…"

Nothing.

"C-come on, Peg-gy. You prom-ised not t-to l-leave me."

Silence.

"Marge, sw-sweetheart?"

The tears that fell down his cheeks froze within seconds. The air he breathed felt like a thousand icicles were carving out his lungs, and following his partner into oblivion sounded like the perfect way to go.

But it was not to be.

Just as the darkness was closing in, two bright beams of light shone through the ice crystals that were his lashes.

And he could hear a distinct British voice declare with relief, "We found them, Ms. Roberts," and a robust American female voice replying, "I can see that, Eddie boy."

~ _The Ski Lift_ ~

Both Jack and Peggy shivered as they returned from their chilly trip down memory lane.

When they caught each other at it, they smirked knowingly at one another, and then Jack asked curiously, "So…?"

"So do I think that…us and the universe...?"

"Yeah, do you?"

"Do you?"

He rolled his eyes at her obvious evasion tactics, but gave her question careful consideration anyways.

She did too.

And when their eyes met again, both of them grinned, as they simultaneously declared:

"Naaahhh."

* * *

 **A/N:** 'Princess Python' is an actual Marvel Comics character. Brownie points to those of you who caught the _Marvelous Mrs. Maisel_ reference. And stay tuned for sequel ; )


	32. Caged

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This 3 part mini-series was inspired by **Jewelz1642** 's pre-Cartson prompt: **_'_** _I love just crazy moments where people realize they are in love with each other and I feel like Cartson could totally have a moment like that.'_

Apparently, I do too, as I took the 'crazy' and ran with it. Enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** Not mine. I just really like playing in and mixing up everyone else's sandboxes. Today's mash-up is ABC's _Agent Carter_ (obviously) and _Castle_.

* * *

 ** _Previously on Agent Carter: Scenarios…_**

 _"And what, pray tell, is the 'Universe' trying to tell us?"_

 _"Well, you tell me. We have been locked together in small confined spaces two or three times before this…"_

 _"So…?"_

 _"So do I think that…?"_

 _"Yeah, do you?"_

 _"Do you?"_

 _"Naaahhh."_

* * *

 **Caged**

* * *

 ** _Two months later..._**

Peggy woke slowly both groggy and disoriented, but most of all baffled.

Her head throbbed, her mouth was dry, and her eyelids were heavy. The last time she had felt like this, she had competed in a drinking game with Dugan the night before. Add to the overall feeling of being death warmed over, there was a sharper shooting pain in her lower back that was somewhere between a knife wound and a massive bruise.

Yet, at the same time, she felt content. A fact, which was even more bizarre, as she was not in her finely furnished room, with its glorious central heat and bed with its thousand-thread-count sheets. No, she was in a damp cool room with what felt like a box-spring mattress that made her wish for her Army cot.

And yet, even though it was sans sheets or coverings of any sort, half of her was toasty warm.

She forced herself to open her grainy eyes, and was met with the sight of:

The sleeping form of Jack.

He was flat on his back, his usually slicked back blond hair was in disarray, and he wore a sleepy contented smile.

Her right hand lay on his chest over his steadily beating heart, and his head was pillowed on her other arm. It always felt good and safe to be in his arms.

 _Wait. 'His arms'? 'Good and safe' in Jack's arms?!_

Her eyes grew wide, as the wrongness of it all, (on so many levels), finally sunk in. For one, this was _Jack_ , her colleague and one time boss before Flynn nosed in. And two, whenever she was in his arms, something terrible was happening to them – like for instance, being dumped with him in a dark cold room that was probably locked from the outside.

In her haste to create space between them, she attempted to pull her arm from beneath his head, but was hindered by the fact that their hands were _cuffed_ together.

Her sudden movement roused Jack enough that he sleepily murmured, "Hmm…Don't go just yet…Stay in bed. S'nice here."

"Jack," she hissed.

The infuriating man opened his deep blue eyes and gave her a slow satisfied sleepy smirk, "Marge…G'morning."

" _Jack!_ " she hissed again, hoping her exasperation covered the shrilly note of rising panic that she heard in her voice.

Apparently, it did, because all he did was grumble like a petulant child, "What?"

"' _What_ ' he says," she mocked, rolling her eyes and jerking her manacled hand so that the steel bracelets and his equally shackled hand were dangling in front of his face, before she growled, "Wake up, Agent. And smell the deep shit that we are in."

He blinked at the cuffs for a few moments and then observed dryly, "Naughty."

"Jack, this isn't some prank," she rebuked. And then a horrible idea crossed her mind. Shooting him a suspicious side-long glance, she asked, "Or is – ?"

Jack's eyes widened, and in the dim gloom she caught the wounded look in them at her not-quite-voiced accusation before he hid it behind his mask of sardonic wit.

"I didn't do this. Less we forget, of the two of us, I have the stronger sense of self-preservation," he argued haughtily, before glancing around and noting, "And I don't think anybody at the office has this kind of imagination."

Peggy found herself relaxing – well, as much as one could in these sorts of circumstances. Jack was right. In the past few years, he had learned to develop a healthy respect for her abilities, and he would not risk her wrath for some stupid prank.

She glanced around too, but could see nothing but the small window high in the ceiling, the patch of sunlight on the cinder block wall across from it, and the mattress that they lay on. The air smelled musty and dusty, and the room felt cavernous, their words echoing back to them like they would in a cathedral.

"Does anything about this place seem familiar to you?"

"No, at least, not any more familiar than any other den of deep shit that we have walked into."

Not being able to take the feeling of being prey anymore, she started patting her pockets with her free hand in search of her gun. Jack did the same, and he quickly came to the same conclusion that she did.

"No gun. No badges. No radio. And – shit."

"What?" she asked anxiously, when he didn't elaborate right away.

"They took my grandfather's pocket watch too. Sons-of-bitches."

Knowing that Jack wouldn't like her commenting upon his sentimental keepsake, Peggy kept her response business-like, "Do you know or remember who 'they' are?"

She could feel him shrug next to her, her shackled arm rising and falling slightly when his did, as he replied, "No, you?"

"No," she whispered glumly, and then compiling all the sensations that her body was practically screaming at her, she added, "I think we were drugged."

Jack must have been feeling the same way, because he didn't argue the possibility, just the method.

"How though? Did someone slip us something?" And then it was his turn to sound almost panicky, as he asked, "I don't have any lipstick stains on my mouth do I?"

She quit her scanning of the room to peer closer at the body part in question. Nope, his pale pink lips were his natural shade alone. She kept this observation to herself though. She did not want him to know that she had considered the shade of his lips before this.

Instead, she simply commented, "No, and this is not what _that_ feels like."

She cringed as soon as she said it, because like a shark to blood in the water, Jack pounced upon her careless remark.

Face alight with an almost unholy delight, he eyed her roguishly, "And how do you know what it feels like?"

Peggy ignored his question and turned around on the mattress, and then with a resigned sigh ( _'in for a penny, in for a pound'_ ), she ordered, "Lift my blouse."

From behind her, she could hear the sudden intake of breath, before he quipped with a nervous chuckle, "If this is your reaction to whatever was used to dope you up, I want some of _that._ "

" _Jack_."

"Okay, okay, as you wish."

Jack lifted her blue cardigan and tugged her white blouse out from her slacks with brisk efficiency, bending her left arm at an odd angle as he did so.

Ignoring the chills that went up and down her now bare spine which had nothing to do with the cold air, she asked with equal briskness, "Now is there anything on my back? There's a spot that hurts and not like a bruise."

"There's a needle mark here," Jack replied, rubbing his free hand over the spot, which sent not just chills but also all sorts of pleasant zings up and down her spine. "Like some Navy nurse missed your well-rounded derriere when giving you a vaccination."

Somehow, she managed not to sound breathy as she observed, "We were drugged. With a sedative of some sort I would guess."

When Jack did nothing, not even remove his hand from her bared back, she asked sharply, "Can I have my shirt back now?"

His hands immediately left her back, taking his pleasant heat with them, as he mumbled, "Oh, right, sure thing, Carter."

As soon as her arm was free from its awkward position and her shirt and cardigan were back in place, she turned back around, and began her interrogation. "Alright, focus. Do you remember anything from today?"

Jack started to shake his blond head but mid-shake his frown of consternation turned into an _Aha!_ -expression, as he declared, "We were together."

"When and where?"

He scowled at her pushing, so she bit her lip to keep silent. He closed his eyes to help with his recall, but mercifully thought aloud so she could follow along.

"It was this morning…at a … at a sleazy joint –" (And here, his blues eyes popped open in delight, as he smirked) "– one of those pay-by-the-hour motels."

Knowing exactly what he was insinuating, she narrowed her eyes at him, "Down boy. I'm sure there was a perfectly professional reason – "

"That's what I thought too," he nodded his head solemnly, playing Mr. Innocent, while his eyes danced with mischief and he added suggestively, "But if you had _other_ ideas…"

Peggy growled low in frustration, and he, smirking all the while, continued, "You pushed me back into the elevator when I got to the office this morning and took me … somewhere, the motel, I suppose, but... "

While he tried to recall where and/or why that was, Peggy found herself getting distracted by the memory of how her hand had felt on his warm solid chest, and in an attempt to get her hormones under control, she acknowledged, "Okay. I have a faint memory of that."

She was proud of herself, when it seemed that eagle-eyed Jack had not noticed her faint flush and only prompted her with an eager: "Yes, and?"

She frowned and racked her brain for a memory, any memory, to surface. Finally one did. "And I took you up to the motel room… room #23…"

She could see the faded peeling number on the cheaply and poorly painted motel room door, but struggled to get past the hazy fog that still clouded her mind. "And then…"

"And then we found a dead body."

Peggy found herself sagging in relief. A dead body meant that they had been there for those 'perfectly professional reasons'. Why she had been bracing herself for anything else was a mystery to be solved at another time.

"But why though?"

It was a perfectly valid question. They were the S.S.R. Dead bodies weren't their purview unless it involved the strange and the bizarre.

"I dunno," Jack replied with a careless shrug before goading her yet again with a provocative smile, "But you always seem to take me to the most interesting of places, sweetheart."

And that is what did the trick.

There was a brief flash like a bulb going off in her mind, and the fog cleared.

~.~

 _"You always take me to the most delightful places, Carter."_

 _A bland motel room. With bland pictures and faded wall-paper and worn carpet._

 _And a dead body, face down on the bed._

 _Doobin and his science minions were there, examining the body, combing over the room._

~.~

"A white male, late 30s…he died of …"

"As-assification?" Jack helpfully supplied.

"Asphyxiation," she gently corrected, hiding her smile.

"That's right. He suffocated and had…the needle mark like us!" he declared the last of this with a snap of his fingers and a self-satisfied _gotcha!_ grin.

"And his fingerprints were burnt off too." She wrinkled her nose as she recalled the smell of torched flesh.

Much to her amusement, she caught Jack examining both of his hands, as if to reassure himself that he hadn't shared in that fate too, before he asked curiously, "Do you remember the vic's name?"

With a shake of her head, she said, "I don't know if we ever knew it. He registered at the front desk by that actor who played Robin Hood."

"Errol Flynn?" Jack asked, and then arching an eyebrow, he pointed out ever-so-helpfully, "That was like ten years ago."

Peggy shrugged dismissively. She hadn't been to see many movies since the war. And not wanting to go down that rabbit trail with him, she redirected: "So, so-called 'Errol Flynn' in a disreputable hotel with his fingerprints burned off. How the hell did that land us here? And where is _here_ exactly?"

She tried to get up to figure that out, but was foiled by the bloody handcuffs. She found herself nearly face-planting into Jack's lap as she was jerked back down to the mattress by her own momentum.

Over her muffled grunt, Jack exclaimed, "Whoa! Sweetheart, if you can't tell, we're hitched together," and to add emphasis to his point he tugged on the cuffs and dangled their shackled hands in front of her face just like she had done to him earlier.

Counting to ten, she straightened up and arched her eyebrows at him. She didn't know which to be more irritated with – his barely concealed amusement or his word-choice.

He interpreted it as the latter, for with a grimace, he attempted to backpedal. "Poor choice of words, but we're bound together. Where you go, I gotta go."

Before he spouted off anymore marriage-related phrases, she grudgingly conceded, "Fine. But let's just get off this mattress."

Jack opened his mouth to make some kind of ribald remark. She could tell by his growing leer, so she cut him off with a curt, "Up and at'em, agent."

"Is there ever a time when you aren't bossy?" he snarked, but still did as she ordered.

Once they were both on their feet, the full implications of their awkward cuffing (her left hand being cuffed to his left) became clear – unless he hugged her from behind, they could never comfortably face the same direction.

"Oh, this is – is – "

"Vexing? An inconvenient hindrance? Yet another bloody nuisance?" Jack supplied, when she was at a loss for words, equally irritated.

"Yeah, all of the above," she sighed, and then another memory flashed in her mind.

~.~

 _"So any luck with missing persons, Palmer?"_

 _"None, in Manhattan."_

 _"How about the other boroughs – Queens, the Bronx, Brooklyn, or what's that one that I am always forgetting?"_

 _"Staten Island. And it's none of the above."_

~.~

"Wait a minute! Palmer checked the local LEO missing persons reports."

"And he told us that he got squat," Jack confirmed, giving her a how-is-this-gonna-help?-expression.

When he didn't add anything else, she prompted impatiently, "And then…?"

"And then he, uh, asked me how I divvied up the holidays with families with my past girlfriends. And I told him that – "

Peggy found herself unable to contain her huff of annoyance. She did not want to hear about his past relationships. At the best of times lately, it made her gut twist like she had eaten bad clam chowder. And this was definitely not the best of times.

"What?" he protested, defending, "That's what happened next!"

"Case-related, Jack," she snapped. "The guy had burnt fingerprints. He had suffocated. There were needle marks like ours."

"The resemblance did not escape my notice," Jack commented on the last dryly, before rubbing his free hand through his hair, as if that would jar his memory loose.

Apparently, it was a successful technique, because he snapped his fingers as he declared, "We went to the cadaver chop shop next!"

She rolled her eyes, "You mean the morgue?"

He jutted out his chin, and stubbornly asserted, "Yep, that's what I said."

She chose to ignore his disparagement of their in-house scientists, and did her own brain-racking. Finally, she had a flash image of a calling card with a red stamp of a lion in a box.

"And Doobin gave us that card that he found in the victim's pocket…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Jack agreed. "And I recognized it as a club card. The kind given to V.I.P.s."

"And then we went to go see your old Cornell college buddy…"

She grimaced as the memory of the pompous prat who made Jack look like Galahad the Galant in comparison surfaced. The man was a V.I.P. of the most exclusive clubs that the city had to offer, due to his family's wealth and his sower-of-wild-oats notoriety. This had made him a useful source, but also a Class-A wanker who felt it was his God-given right to leer at her like she was made for his viewing pleasure.

"Drew Donovan," Jack supplied, almost reluctantly, as if he was a bit embarrassed for his friend's behavior. He didn't dwell on it long though, as he added with some excitement. "And he told us that it was an underground club. All hush-hush. The kind he never went to, but always got invited."

"Which doesn't – _didn't_ – really help us any," she noted dryly. "As we clearly had no idea what we were walking into."

"No, but he did give us the address for its most recent location," he argued, which sparked a recollection for the both of them.

"The old boxing gym –

" – in the Bronx!"

~.~

 ** _Sometime earlier that day…_**

 _"This it?" Jack asked as they walked up to a soot-covered brick building with boarded up windows._

 _She squinted at the faded sign, before confirming, "Matches the address."_

 _Jack continued to eye it dubiously, as he commented, "You know, this isn't like any elite club I have ever been to."_

 _"I think its appeal is the illegalness of whatever happens there, rather than creature comforts," she reasoned with a shrug._

 _"Hmmm…" he agreed distractedly, before he fixed her with an expectant look. "You know, technically, we should be getting a warrant."_

 _"We will," she reassured, "But a quick reconnaissance could help our case with the judge."_

 _They circled the building with nothing standing out as signs of suspicious activity, or any activity for that matter – at least not until they walked around to the back and noticed that there was a truck with a trailer parked near the back door, which was open._

 _Jack knocked on door and called, "Hello?"_

 _When there was no answer, Jack nodded to her and pulled out his gun. She did the same._

 _They did a sweep through the lockers and back offices and found nothing, but when they came to the front, they heard a disconcerting rattling sound and discovered an even more disturbing sight –_

 _A cage._

 _And to be more precise – an old man in a cage._

 _"Help me."_

~.~

"An old man in a cage."

"Yeah," Jack confirmed, looking just as unsettled as she felt at the memory. He swallowed nervously, as he added, "I remember that and trying to talk him into backing away from the door so I could shoot off the lock."

She remembered that too, and telling him to save his bullets because she had her lock pick set with her this time.

Well, _had_ had them.

Jack cut into her mourning over the lost tools with his almost plaintive whisper: "What the hell is going on, Carter?"

~A~

"Jack, work with me, not against me!"

"Right back at ya, Peggy."

Not in the mood to take any of his snarls, she stopped trying to lead him towards the faint outline of a steel door, while he had been trying to lead her – who knew where. This effectively ended their odd mixture of tug-of-war and merry-go-round, which had resulted in them going in circles and never leaving the mattress.

Fixing him with a frustrated scowl, she challenged, "Since when do I – "

He cut her off with a wave of his free hand (clearly not having any ready examples to defend his accusation), and challenged right back, "Okay, tell me this: Why do you always have to be first? First out of an elevator, first through the door, first on scene?"

Peggy had an answer for that. She was a take-charge kind of woman. In her experience, if she waited around for men to quit playing their power games, nothing of importance would ever get done.

But saying that would get her nowhere, so she found herself smiling, as she tentatively joked, "Ladies first?"

Jack scowled, unappreciative of her olive branch humor.

With a sigh, she reasoned, "I am an agent, Jack."

"And I'm not?"

She opened mouth to defend herself, but Jack interrupted her here too, grousing, "And you have to be the smartest too."

Anger welled up within her, all the frustration that she had felt at having to prove herself over the years just because her genitalia didn't dangle between her legs. The anger welled so much so that it nearly choked her.

They glowered at each other, until finally she huffed, "Fine. You lead."

"Thanks," he replied, with very little graciousness.

Much to her annoyed amusement, he then glanced around aimlessly, looking a bit at a loss. But unlike the old Jack who would have dragged her in just any random direction, he turned to her and asked a bit sheepishly, "Uh, so where did you want to go?"

With a valiant effort not to roll her eyes, she nodded towards the steel door, "I imagine that the wall with the light switch is near that door."

With a jerk of his head that might have been one of appreciation, he wordlessly led them towards the door. Once there, they felt along the wall until they found the switch. They flipped it up, and an unshaded bulb dangling from the ceiling revealed:

A bare stark room, with high grey walls that were mostly cinder block and haphazardly slathered with cement. And the only piece of so-called 'furniture', aside from their lumpy mattress, was a large freezer-sized metal box.

"You know that saying, 'Ignorance is bliss'? I think I believe it now."

Peggy took in the steel door and thick fortress-like walls and whispered glumly, "I know."

The feeling of being caged in, trapped, and at the mercy of the merciless was crowding in on her, just like the walls. She wanted out and she wanted out _now_.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jack nervously eyeing her twitching trigger finger, and she knew that he was slightly grateful that she did not have her gun.

For some odd reason that steadied her. Perhaps, it was because she knew that he didn't pity her. Perhaps, it was because although he knew these kinds of situations made her a little crazy, he didn't think of her as a hysterical woman - just a crazy badass agent.

And then he had to go and ruin her moment of relative sanity.

Turning to face the big steel freezer-sized box, Jack asked, "What do you think is in there? It's not like where some mob boss literally puts people on ice, do you think?"

Repressing a shudder, she ordered, "Stop that."

"What?"

"Guessing games like that. It's not helping," she retorted, as she strode determinedly towards box, dragging him along with her.

"What are you doing?" Jack questioned, even as he did his best to slow her advance.

"Investigating," she replied shortly. If she kept her mind focused on getting answers, then it wouldn't be paying attention to her dark fears and even darker memories that were preying on the back of her mind. When she wrapped her knuckles against the box, there was no hollow thud, so she assumed it was filled with something.

"Right, because whoever left us in here, also left us with the means to get out, like a rope or crowbar or stick of dynamite or – "

Before he could continue his now mocking guessing game, she interjected, "Hold my hand."

"Why?"

She hopped onto the not-hollow box and met his suspicious gaze, as she coolly answered, "So the cuffs don't cut into us."

He didn't take her hand and instead asked hopefully, "Do you have a bobby pin or something?"

"No," she snorted derisively. "And this isn't the movies. Cuffs of this quality would need my lock pick set, which they took too." When he still looked reluctant to take her left hand, she wiggled her fingers at him and teased, "I don't bite."

That got her a wan smile, as he mewed disappointedly, "Hmm…you don't?"

Peggy was about to answer with some sort of 'in your dreams' retort, but before she could do so, she heard voices coming from the other side of the wall.

Jack heard them too, because he put a finger to his lips and mouthed: 'Someone is coming'.

 _"Are you sure that you didn't dose him up too much? He must be ready for tonight,"_ said a deep velvety voice.

 _"He'll wake up soon, boss,"_ assured the other. _"I had enough left over from what I used on him for our very special **guests**."_

 _"Good, good. Speaking of them, don't feed him after he wakes up. I want him to nice and **hungry** for his dinner."_

There was what could only be described as evil chuckling from the pair, before the sound of their voices and footsteps drifted away. Not even with her ear pressed to the wall could she catch another word from them. What she could hear was –

"Well, that was ominous sounding."

"Shhh," she hissed. "Can't you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Jack whispered.

Peggy hauled him closer to her so that his ear was pressed to the wall too, even as she softly replied, "Breathing."

For a few moments, she couldn't hear it anymore, not over the sudden loud thudding of her heart (that had absolutely nothing to do with her increased proximity to Jack, nope, not all). But as soon as she closed her eyes and focused with all her might on the sounds coming from the other room, she could hear it again – the slow steady rasping of someone in a heavily drugged sleep.

With a determined grimace, she took a risk and pounded the wall.

 _Knock! Knock! Knock!_

"Carter, what are you doing?" Jack asked as he reached for her hands to try to stop her. Most likely, in case the racket she was causing brought the attention of their 'hosts'.

She waved him off irritably, and explained, "Unlike the rest of the walls, this isn't cinder block or cement."

Apparently, that wasn't explanation enough, because he arched his eyebrows and prompted, "And your point is…?"

"One, if I can hear someone breathing from the other side, whoever is over there might hear me."

"Not if they are still sedated," he argued.

Undeterred, she continued, "Two, if we knock a hole in the wall, we might be able to help them."

"How?" he scoffed, "We will be just as trapped."

With a low growl of frustration, she replied, "I don't know. Maybe the room is set up differently. Maybe there is something we can exploit in there that will help us. Or maybe they need medical attention. Or just company. What if this was one of your – "

"Alright, alright," Jack waved her off with his free hand, "No need to figuratively put any of my family into this chap's shoes, woman. I did get into this line of work because I like to help people you know."

Feeling somewhat mollified, Peggy gave him a wan smile as she teased, "Yeah, but for you, it just usually involves more dragon slaying and pirate catching than maiden rescuing, doesn't it?"

"Less tears involved with the other two," he admitted with an unabashed grin, which turned sly as he added, "But that's what you'll be dealing with once we break through, yeah?"

With an exaggerated put-upon sigh, she agreed, "Yeah, Jack, I'll deal with the tears."

~A~

The wall was thicker than the plywood that had concealed the smuggler's counterfeit money many moons ago. It would take more than one of their combined kicks to punch through this time around. But fortunately for them, they both kept up a regular fitness routine and knew enough physics to make their efforts worthwhile.

As soon as Jack had gotten into position behind her, he declared with a grunt, "Alright, Carter, let's make use of those killer heels."

"If this works, no more mocking my footwear, Jack," she retorted, even as she braced herself against him so that she could kick even more forcefully at the wall.

When she felt it give a little from her furious pounding, she instructed, "Okay, now shift."

Jack shifted from out behind her and got on his hands and knees next to her, so that he could kick with her, only backwards. For a few minutes, all there was the sound of their feet pounding against the wall and their grunts and gasps of their efforts but eventually there was a _crack_ , as the wood gave way even more.

They gave it a few more kicks so that the hole would be wide enough for one of their heads to duck through. As they admired their footwork, Jack confessed half-facetiously, "You know, I've always admired your gams."

"I know," she smirked, "And your legs aren't half so bad either. If we ever have those inter-branch training days at Quantico again, we should do the three-legged race together."

She was only half-surprised that Jack didn't respond by wincing at the idea of being paired with the up-start woman agent in front of all of his colleagues. The old Jack would have, but the more mature Jack that had grown (she hoped from his work with her), just grinned and said, "Oh, Marge, just think of all the money that we could make off of everyone who underestimates you when they bet against us."

To hide her overly pleased smile, she sat up and crouched at the hole, trying to peer into the gloom on the other side. When she could see nothing, she called out, "Hello?"

From over her shoulder, Jack whispered, "I suppose, you're going to wanna go first?"

As much as she wanted to reach the poor person on the other side, she found herself strangely hesitant, so she magnanimously declared, "Oh no, the honor is all yours, Jack."

He shot her a look that clearly said that he saw through her ruse, but he ducked his head through the hole and had half of his broad shoulders through before he hissed out an oath.

"What?!" she hissed back.

He pulled his head out and then slumped against the wall, looking as white as a ghost. Ignoring her questioning look, he muttered, "It's not fair…Fifth time … trapped with a caged … -ess, and now there's _literally_..."

Not bothering to ask for clarification, she poked her head in the hole to do her own investigation.

The room was just as gloomy as theirs. And it was almost a mirror image. It had the same prison-like walls. The same high window that barely let in any light, and the same locked steel door. What it didn't have was a large metal box.

No, it had a large sleeping –

"Shit!"

She jerked her head back in and gasped, "Tiger. That's a bloody tiger."


	33. Caged II: Eye of the Tiger

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** Jack, Peggy, and Tiger ... Oh my.

* * *

 **Caged II: Eye of the Tiger**

* * *

"I vote we get the _hell_ out of here," Jack declared, "before it wakes up and we become its next bloody big dinner."

Glad to hear that his voice was stronger, even if his face was still deathly pale, she agreed wholeheartedly, "Seconded."

Grabbing his hand, she stood up and hauled him to his feet next to her.

"Where to next?" he asked.

She didn't comment on his sudden contentment in letting her take charge, but simply answered, "The way I see it, finding out if there is anything useful in that container might be our best bet."

She half-expected cynical Jack to point out that it was a long shot again, but all he did was follow her lead. As they walked toward the box, he asked almost wistfully, "Do you think anyone will notice we're missing?"

"Angie might, but then again, we have gone days without seeing each other between her late night rehearsals or late night shifts and the odd hours I keep doing this job." At his disheartened look, she added, "But Ramirez or one of the boys will notice."

Jack did not appear at all encouraged, as he replied morosely, "But how many times will we get lucky enough that they will save our bacon?"

Peggy didn't answer. She knew that she had used more lives than three cats combined in the past ten years. And every time she and Jack got stuck like this, she prayed that this wouldn't be when then their luck ran out. She did not want to watch Jack die, and she also knew that she did not want Jack to suffer her death on his conscience either.

To distract herself from those morbid thoughts, she resumed her scanning of their surroundings, this time including the ceiling. And that's when she saw it.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing to a metal plate high in the ceiling.

"A hatch," Jack answered glumly, not at all sharing in her rising sense of hope. "It's too high, Peggy."

Peggy refused to give into despair. She had been in worse situations than these, with a whole lot less. Hell, they both had.

Pointing to the large container, she declared determinedly, "Not if we climb on top of that."

~A~

Moving the box to get it beneath the hatch was easier said than done.

No matter what configuration they tried – Jack pushing at one end while she pulled or both of them side by side with backs to the wall and feet bracing as they attempted to leg press it – nothing worked. It didn't help that they were trying to do this all very quietly. Letting sleeping tigers lie seemed a good rule of thumb here.

In a more desperate moment, Peggy had Jack get behind her so that she could brace against him and have him throw his weight behind her as they tried to shove the Behemoth away from the wall. It wasn't until she could feel his warm breath hitch against her neck that she realized her hips being cradled in his thighs was an extremely compromising position.

"You're not enjoying yourself are you?" she accused.

"No, no, I'm a – _ahem_ – more of a breast man than an ass – uh, _ahem!_ – leg man myself, Carter."

Peggy was about to comment, but Jack cut it in with an urgent plea: "Be that as it may – _try_ not to wiggle too much, will you?"

As that was nearly impossible to do with this maneuver, all she said was, "Alright, on three. One – two – three. Push!"

And nothing happened. The bloody box wouldn't budge.

While they disentangled themselves, Jack grumbled, "I changed my mind. It's not a freezer for our future corpses. It's our mystery host's rock collection."

She eyed Behemoth with aggravation, as she mused, "Do you think it's the contents that is making it so heavy or the box itself?"

"Does it matter? It's not like we can empty it. It's locked, and as you've said before, you've been relieved of the necessary tools."

"I don't need the lock picks. It's a combo lock."

"So?" he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"So," she replied patiently, "I knew a guy in the French Resistance who was a safe cracker."

Jack looked at her with a mixture of hope, wonder, disbelief, and irritation, as he ordered, "If you're telling me that he taught you the tricks of his trade, by all means, Carter, less yappin' more crackin' before our hosts get back or Sleeping Beastie wakes."

Feeling the same sense of urgency that he did, Peggy crouched before the lock, dragging Jack with her, and then she began to spin the dial.

~A~

What seemed like hours later but was probably less, her knees, calves, and back ached from the crouched position. And she only had two of the three numbers in the sequence figured out.

"Are we there yet?" Jack grumbled impatiently next to her.

"Shush. I almost had it."

"Uh-huh. Just like you did – "

"Jack," she growled.

"Sorry, I know you hate being locked up even more than I do. It's just – Can I have my hand back now?"

Deciding that both her aching muscles and his poor left wrist could use a break, Peggy took pity on them both and stopped, settling back to rest against the container.

Jack rubbed at his wrist, as he confessed, "It's just that I have never been a glass is half-full kind of guy."

She couldn't hold back her snort of amusement. Daniel's favorite description of Jack had been 'cynical bastard'.

He ignored her and continued, "But even the most optimistic fool would have to admit that we're screwed."

"You're right."

Jack looked askance at her, obviously not wanting her to confirm his doom and gloom predictions, especially not in a so matter of fact way.

"I hate that we're trapped in here," she admitted with a sigh. "It's taking all I have not to lose my head."

"So what's helping you?"

"Aside from the fact that it is very hard to pace like a caged tiger, when I have you attached to me like a literal ball and chain?" she replied with a wan smile.

Jack shot her a rebuking look, for either her tactless reference to their furry companion or her remark about him. Possibly both.

More seriously, she shared, "I just keep holding on to the fact that I know our team is tearing up the city looking for us by now."

He took a few moments to mull that over, before admitting, "You know, for once, I would like it if we were to save ourselves from this kind of mess."

And then he gamely held up his arm so that she can get back to the lock.

~A~

It took her a few more tries, but eventually she did it.

With a quick tug, the padlock popped open.

"One of these days, Carter, I am going to quit doubting you."

Once upon a time, she would have muttered something like 'I won't hold my breath', but they had been through too much together for that, so instead, she magnanimously decreed, "Under these circumstances, a momentary lapse of faith is understandable."

Jack jerked his head in a grateful nod, and then they got to their feet.

They stood there staring at the box, neither one of them eager to be the first to open it.

Finally, Jack whispered, "You don't think it's a rock collection either do you?"

"No," she sighed, "But we've seen dead bodies before."

In the dim light, she could see Jack pale, and she knew it was not at the prospect of seeing yet another one, but at all the haunting memories – the torn, mangled, and bullet-ridden ones from the war and all that came with the job thereafter – just like she had.

Skipping their usual count of three, they lifted the lid, and let out simultaneous curses.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!"

"Bloody-effing-Hell!"

"Carter? Who are these people?"

As Peggy stared at the rows of bloody knives that lined the lid and the mountain of blood splattered chains and manacles that filled the box itself, she found her shackled hand squeezing his, as she admitted, "I don't know, but this explains the cage upstairs at least. And I'm guessing that the chains and the butcher knives are for the raw meat used to feed wee Beastie."

With a grim look of determination, Jack declared, "Fine and dandy. But this box isn't going to empty itself."

No, it was not. So without a word, Peggy reached in and grabbed a handful of the literally bloody chains.

~A~

After emptying the container, they shoved the box, as quietly as they could, beneath the hatch. Jack had also had the foresight to have them drag over the mattress so that they would have something to cushion their landing if – or in his pessimistic frame of mind, _when_ – they fell.

They hopped on top, with Jack standing to his feet first, and then giving her a hand so she could stand alongside him. That is when they realized their next hurdle.

As they stared at the hatch that was still roughly six feet or so above their heads, Jack groaned, "It's like reaching for the stars."

Nudging him with her shoulders, she pointed out, "Not if we do a repeat performance of the Elevator."

Instead of smiling back at her, Jack let out a groan again.

"What?" she protested. "It can't have been that bad."

"Last time, you didn't need to stand on my shoulders with your killer high-heeled boots," he argued.

Peggy scowled at him, "If I recall the deal was that you wouldn't mock my shoes anymore."

"I never said yes," he smugly replied, "And your knocking a hole in the wall just made it easier for the tiger to get to us."

As she had no argument against that, she conceded the point. She also conceded that while these were not her tallest or spikiest of heels, they wouldn't be comfortable for him and would risk upsetting her balance as well. So with a shrug, she bent down to try to pull them off, but once again the angle was all wrong.

Turning around, she admitted, "I'm going to need help," and proffered one booted foot towards him.

"I was right. You are bossy in all things. First, it's the blouse. Now, it's the boots. What's going to be next, Carter?"

Peggy could feel the corners of her lips twitching but all she did was give him another order, "Stop your fantasizing and pull, Agent."

She might have heard a muttered 'yes, mistress', but didn't call him on it.

~A~

Once the boots were off and she turned back to face him, Jack bent down slightly and cupped his hands so that with a boost she could climb onto his shoulders, just like they had done in the elevator.

But they were significantly hampered this time by their awkwardly cuffed hands. She was stuck dangling over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes, with her left arm trapped beneath her body, and unable to maneuver herself around. It also didn't help that there were no walls to push herself off of, just cold damp empty air.

"Jack!, Jack, this isn't working. I'm going to – "

"Alright, alright," he hastily agreed. "I'm letting you down. Just quit squirming."

He slowly bent forward until her stockinged feet felt the cold metal of the container, and then he let go of her.

She took a step back and straightened her clothes and hair, while trying to puzzle out a way to successfully contort their bodies. He mercifully didn't distract her with his usual taunting quips.

Finally, she said, "We could try it with me climbing from behind."

"And how would we do that?"

"If you do a half-lunge, I could use your back leg, lower back, and then your shoulder to push off of and then while holding hands and you straightening, we should be in position."

In an obvious effort not to have another 'lapse in faith', he grimly nodded and did as she suggested.

She did the same, grabbing hold of his hands and then propelling herself with her left foot on his calf, to her right foot on his back, to her left again on his shoulder, and with her right foot soon following.

Jack wobbled some, but then slowly straightened, and when she felt that they were steady enough, she said, "Okay, I'm going to let go of your right hand. Hold my calf, while I reach for the door."

"Aye, aye, Ma'am," he grunted.

This time, she couldn't let it go. "It's nice to see that you finally realize the _natural order_ to things, Jack." And before he could pop off yet another witty retort, she squeezed his right hand with her own, let it go, and then stretched towards the door.

For a heartbeat or two, as her fingers grazed the edge but could not quite reach, she thought that all of this effort was for nothing.

And then she pushed and the hatch bounced up just a centimeter or two, letting in a little more daylight and giving her a glimmer of hope.

"It's open!" she cried.

And then the hatch was yanked open and a big burly bald man with a leering grin crouched above her.

Startled, she jerked back, which sent Jack tumbling to the side.

Somehow, he managed to jerk their momentum to the side with the mattress, where they landed flat on their backs.

While they lay there gasping for breath, the leering man continued to stare down at them, his lip curling into a threatening snarl.

Peggy was not to be cowed though. As soon as she caught her breath, she called up, "Who are you?! I know you know that we are federal agents! You've got our badges!"

When all the man did was give her a gap-toothed grin, she hollered, "Our people will come looking for us!"

The man scowled, but instead of issuing his own threat, which might have clued them into what it was their captors' had planned for them, he slammed the hatch shut again.

~A~

Surprisingly, it had been Jack who had dragged them off the mattress to their next gambit for escape.

He had grabbed a knife, one with a serrated edge and the sharpest looking that he could find, and with the cuff's chained links pulled taut between them, they attempted to saw them apart.

But after a good ten to twenty minutes or so, her partner admitted defeat.

"Damn it!"

"Well, it was a long shot. These are hard-cased steel, Jack."

He shrugged and stared morosely down at the knife, musing, "You know there is another way…"

Peggy looked from Jack to the knife and back again before she declared, "Oh no. Oh, no, no, no. Uh-huh. You are not going to free yourself like a bear from a trap."

"Me? I was thinking you. Your hands are smaller, and," he paused to grin at her, "mine are just too damn pretty."

She was about to take her free 'less than pretty' hand and wipe that smirk off his face, when she heard voices again coming from the other side of the wall that had the steel door.

Hearing them too, Jack quickly but quietly joined her at the wall on the side of the room that they had so earnestly been avoiding.

 _"Tell him it's for both a good reason and for a good cause."_

The other man's voice was low and unintelligible, and they only caught bits and pieces of the next bit.

 _"…The two…just fell into my lap…They are my_ _pièce de résistance_ _…If there is anything left, he can have them."_

This time, Peggy was able to detect that the other man was speaking in a foreign language.

Jack must have picked up on it too, as he whispered next to her, "Sounds Spanish"

"It's Portugese. Shh."

 _"Yes, he is very big and handsome. Just as was promised. He will be very entertaining in tonight's match-up."_

Once again, their hosts' move away, making it impossible for them to hear anymore.

"'Match-up'?" she asked, not familiar with the term, at least not in this context.

Jack apparently was, because his blue eyes were wide in astonishment, "Oh, I've heard of this. Wallace was telling me the other day that the local LEOs have been tracking an underground gladiator ring."

"A gladiator ring? Like a cock-fight but with ...?"

"Lions and tigers and bears, and possibly nosy agents too."

"Oh my. And we walked in on their operation."

There was a sudden noise from the other side of the wall that made both of them jump.

 _Click. Click. Click._

The sound of claws clacking against a cold hard floor.

"Yeah, discovering their glorified cock-fight is not our problem right now," Jack pointed out with a nervous chuckle.

"You don't think he'll go straight for the hole in the wall, do you?"

Jack's hand tightened its hold on her own as they slowly backed away, but he didn't need to answer because they could clearly see the tiger sniffing at the wooden boards and his gleaming predatory eyes as its hungry gaze fixated on them.

The boss's ominous words from earlier came to mind – _"I want him to be nice and hungry for his dinner,"_ just as a large sharply clawed paw lashed out and swiped at the wooden boards that seemed far more flimsy than when they had been dealing with them.

"Oh, bloody hell," she breathed.

"Come on, Carter," Jack barked, tugging on her arm. "We gotta cover that hole."

They abandoned their slow wary pace and dashed for the big box.

They put all their might and weight behind their shoving and pushing, but it was to no avail.

Oh, it moved a couple of inches, but they were nowhere near fast enough to compete with the tiger's demolition work.

"Jack…" she gasped, trying to breathe deeply and not hyperventilate. When it seemed that she hadn't caught his attention and he was going to continue futilely throwing his shoulder into the box, she let a hint of her own panic creep into her voice, as she asked, "What do we do?"

It seemed to do the trick. The man, who wanted to become an agent to help people, put his panic for himself on the back-burner to help her with hers.

After scanning the room for any ideas, his gaze returned to the box, and he suggested, "We could get inside."

She hadn't really been overwhelmed with panic, not until he suggested that. The very idea of being confined in so small a space…

Whether it was the blood draining from her face or her wild-eyed terror that he caught, she didn't know, but as soon as he saw whatever it was, he hastened to soothe, "I know you don't like small spaces, Peggy, but – "

"But nothing! It'll latch and we'll suffocate!"

"Would you rather be mauled to death and eaten?" Jack snapped.

"What's option three?"

To his credit, he didn't shout back 'There is no option three!' like she might have if their roles had been reversed. Instead, he frantically suggested over the sound of breaking wood and growling tiger, "The knives?"

They threw open the lid and examined their options, which were abysmal. All of the blades were too short to be effective.

"They aren't long enough," Jack groaned.

At Jack's words, Peggy realized two things. One, this was why she loved working with him – even at his worst, they still could work as a team. And two, there was a fourth option.

"Oh, Jack, I could kiss you!"

His head whipped up and away from the determined and voracious beastie to stare at her in bewilderment, as he exclaimed, "What?!"

"'Long'!" she exclaimed right back. "The box is _long_! We can stand it on its side!"

Without a word, Jack slammed the lid shut, and they moved to one end of Behemoth, scrabbling at its corners so that they could get enough of a finger-hold to lift it.

Inch-by-inch they lifted it up, and when it was high enough, Peggy ducked under and used her back as a lever.

Once it was on its side, they rocked it back and forth until it was beneath the hatch, and then they were scrabbling up, Peggy giving Jack a boost, and then him hauling her up alongside.

And just in time too, because just as Jack pulled her up, the tiger let out a loud roar and charged through the jagged hole he had widened, pouncing where she had been.

While the tiger stalked them, hungrily eyeing them as he circled the box, Jack gazed from her to the hatch to the tiger and back to her again, before asking, "So this is the plan?"

"So far," Peggy admitted, even as she nervously watched the back legs of the tiger bunch.

Jack saw it too, and he nervously asked, "Do you know how high tigers can jump?"

And then the tiger sprang.

Its leap took it to the very top, its claws scrabbling at the edge.

"High," she answered.

"Yeah, I, um, see that," Jack acknowledged, "And do you see any way out of this, that doesn't involve our hosts opening the hatch just long enough to shove us back down to Kitty's waiting paws and jaws?"

Peggy did not. Nor did she have the brain power to come up with one, as she was too busy watching 'Kitty' take another leap at them.

"Whoa!" Jack yelled in her ear, as they both dodged the extended swipe of the tiger's right foreleg. The swipe had nearly reached the middle sending them to the opposite edge of the box, which combined with the tiger's weight from its leap sent the box rocking beneath their feet.

"Oh Crikey! He's bloody playing with us!"

"Peggy, if we don't get out of here soon, he's going to knock us over."

In other circumstances, she might have snapped at his stating the obvious, but in this moment, having him outline the facts of the situation helped ground her.

Looking up into his wide blue eyes, she coolly declared, "The next step in this plan is to scream like little boys."

Seeing the wisdom in her words, Jack did not object to her challenge of the common gender stereotype, but instead he leaned his head back and shouted along with her:

"Help! Help! Get us out of here! Help!"

They continued their shouting, even as they dodged the lunges of their furry nemesis and danced atop the box in the hopes that they were better at physics than the giant cat was.

And just as their voices were growing hoarse, the hatch opened.

And a most beautiful sight met their eyes –

Rick Ramirez and Jerry Palmer.

"Holy shit! That's a tiger!" Ramirez swore.

"Yeah, yeah, that's a tiger. A hungry one too, so can you get us out of here, boys?" Jack barked.

"Of course, sir," Palmer replied, and then both of them disappeared to go find them a rope or something to help pull them out.

Peggy had one brief moment of relief before it was shattered at the sound of a gunshot and the sight of the hatch slamming shut again.

Mercifully, neither one of them were so startled that they fell off the box, but it was a near thing, and the tiger saw it and attempted to take advantage with yet another roaring lunge.

When their frantic pleas for help continued to go unanswered, Jack looked mournfully down at her and hoarsely whispered, "I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"For lots of things, but for one, not listening to the Universe and asking you out to that new place Serendipity's."

She wanted to snap that 'this was not the time for jokes', but the more she looked into his deep blue eyes, the more she realized that he was serious.

There were so many other things that she could have said to this – some logical and scoffing, some heartfelt, so heartfelt that she hadn't even admitted them to herself yet – but what came out was:

"No! No, Jack, we didn't survive a world war, Dottie and Fenhoff, Frost and Chadwick, Dottie again, and you a bullet to the chest, just to die here. I refuse to die and forbid you to either!"

And then a beautiful thing happened, instead of Jack telling her about the natural order of things in his cynical way, he looked at her with complete faith.

And so as the tiger quit playing and took one final powerful leap –

They too leaped.

~A~

Peggy sat in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket while the paramedics examined her.

She sat and listened as Ramirez and Palmer reported to Deputy Agent Jack Thompson how they had done their own research on the club card, (talking with Wallace and his connections at the local level), how they had tracked down Daniel's C.I. whose tip about the man in Room #23 had originally sent them down this path, and how they had put all the pieces of the puzzle together to discover the new location of the underground gladiator-gambling ring.

She listened as Chief Flynn scolded Jack for 'going rogue again' and as he informed him that the ring leaders and tiger owners, including the old man who played bait in the cage and the ones who had shot at Ramirez and Palmer and interrupted their rescue, were already stating that they wanted to make a deal and give up the names and other useful info on their clientele, some of whom were of interest to the S.S.R.

She listened as Jack regaled his audience with the tale of how just as the tiger made his lethal jump, they had jumped and grabbed onto the pipes running across the ceiling, which were thankfully not so rusty that they couldn't hold their combined weight.

She sat there and came to one horrible realization.

Without a word, Peggy got up and left the paramedic mid-sentence. She stalked right up to Jack, who met her gaze and smirked.

And as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, he held up his hand and wiggled all five of his fingers. Peggy knew that he was referring to his pet theory about them and the universe and locked broom cupboards or whatever.

Or perhaps, it was because they had survived being locked in such close quarters without being killed or killing one another for the fifth time.

In this moment, it didn't really matter to Peggy. What mattered to her was _her_ reason.

Her biggest fear today had not been being trapped – again – by her enemies. It had not even been Death-by-Kitty.

More than the act of dying itself, she had been absolutely terrified at the idea of never seeing Jack smile or even smirk at her again. Of never letting herself find out what _could be_ with them. Of never getting the chance to (willingly) wake up next to him and see where that would take them.

And her horrible epiphany had been that she was not willing to risk that again.

"Not one word," she growled, and then before all their colleagues, the paramedics, and a sundry, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him.

It was a short, brutal, smirk-stealing kiss that left both of them breathless and at least her wanting more.

And then with all the dignity she could muster, she walked away towards the shadowy spot on the edge of onlookers where she could see Jarvis lurking.

Jack, of course, could not let her go without trying to have the last word. So he called after her, "I suppose that this means I'll be taking you out to that new place, Serendipity, Friday?"

Imagining all the deadly things that could happen between now and then, she briskly declared from her over shoulder:

"Let's not tempt Fate. Tomorrow, 8pm."


	34. Hurt

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This prompt is from **Filmlover93** who requested a chapter ' _about their daughter getting hurt because of one of their enemies.'_

* * *

 **Hurt**

* * *

Jack's heart broke. Again.

Considering how many times that had happened these past few weeks, one would think that it would have scarred and calloused over by now.

But he dared any man not to be as devastated as he felt right now, if their 15 year-old daughter had tears silently streaming down her face as she stared at her marred reflection.

Biting back all the curses that were at the tip of his tongue, he moved from Ellie's doorway and came to stand behind her. He was sure to hug only the side of her that had not been burned.

The daughter of one of the many bad guys that Peggy had put away over the years had found out where they lived and had torched it while their children were inside. Ellie, his brave girl, had managed to crawl towards her brother's room beneath the smoke and flames and get him out safe and unscathed by using her body as a shield. The price for such bravery had been some severe burns all along her left side including her ear and part of her face.

The surgeons had done what they could these past few weeks and would perhaps try again later, but she would always have some scarring. Most of it could be hidden by her hair once it grew long enough again, but that was a small comfort for a young girl in this day and age where beauty was mostly only assessed at skin deep level.

He wanted to say all sorts of comforting things to her like – "those who truly love you will see beyond the scars", but he held his tongue. He had learned long ago that anything he said when she was this upset was wrong. Also voicing his thoughts of rage towards the Pyro-bitch and all those who helped her or promising to punish anyone who commented on her scars was not something his Ellie needed to hear. So he waited.

Finally, she raised her eyes to meet his in the mirror's reflection to voice in a harsh whisper: "I hate her."

He was a bit taken aback by the ferocity in her gaze, but with a reassuring squeeze of his arm around her, he only quietly concurred, "Me too."

She scowled at him, declaring irritably, "No, you don't. You could never hate Mom."

He sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he had not promised carte blanche violence on her behalf. Foolishly setting himself up to break his word to his little girl while she was already feeling let down by a parent would have necessitated him kicking his own ass.

Outwardly, he neither agreed nor disagreed with her assessment, nor did he scold her for how she felt towards her mother at the moment. All he did was arch an eyebrow and ask curiously, "Would you want me to?"

Ellie frowned in serious consideration, before sagging against him and sighing begrudgingly, "No."

Using all of his years of experience as an interrogator, he kept his tone light, curious, and judgment-free, as he asked, "Why do you?"

Her gaze snapped up to meet his again in righteous fury, and then with all the sarcastic indignation that a teenager can muster, she scathingly replied, "Oh, I don't know! Maybe because she's _once again_ NOT HERE?"

He didn't flinch at her increase in volume, nor did he interrupt her tirade, but let her go full-steam ahead, knowing that eventually she would run out, just like Peggy.

"You would _think_ that having your daughter _half-roasted alive_ would be sufficient reason to stay home and leave somebody else to go and save the world or whatever she does," she sneered.

While he was somewhat amused to see that her derisive lip-curl was a near perfect imitation of his own, he mostly wished to weep, as his Ellie added almost plaintively, "Wouldn't you?"

As he met her angry, tearful gaze in the mirror's reflection, the dark angry, begging to release his wrath on all those who have hurt his baby girl part of himself wanted to shout _'Hell, yes!',_ but the wiser part of himself was never more grateful than then that he was who he was.

If he hadn't learned long ago how to act confident and use the Thompson silver-tongue wiles, he never would have been prepared for this kind of conversation. For the sake of his daughter's and wife's relationship, he could not show Ellie the part of him that was just as enraged as she was at Peggy's absence.

So all he said was:

"Yep."

His daughter, who had more than a healthy dose of his skepticism, was so taken aback by his placid agreement that she twisted out of his arms so that she could turn and search his face directly, as she hoarsely asked in stunned disbelief, "You agree with me?"

He knew what Peggy would have wanted him to say 'Yes, but...' and then follow that 'but' with all the facts of how she had been there - before and after each and every surgery, checking to see how she was, talking with the doctors, talking with all of her knowledgeable science friends and colleagues about the recommended procedures, stopping in to see her at midnight or at 2am or whenever she could squeeze time in while supervising the manhunt. But those facts wouldn't help here.

"It is a good enough reason, more than a good reason," he agreed with steady sincerity, before adding thoughtfully, " _And_ for once, I don't think saving the world is why your mom is doing what she's doing."

This time, it was Ellie who arched a questioning eyebrow.

Not quite sure how he could best put his Marge's issues into words so that her daughter would understand, he shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against her four-poster bed, while he searched for the right phrasing.

When he was ready, he crossed his arms and met her gaze head on, as he began with the foundational truth: "Your mother is one of those people who believes the weight of the world rests on her shoulders. She's a doer. She believes that if she can do something, she _must_ do something and _should_ do something. No ifs, ands, or buts."

"You do too," his daughter protested staunchly.

"Thanks, kid," he chuckled, and then more seriously declared, "Your faith in me – and your brother's and your mother's – are what push me to be better."

When it looked like she was going to protest further, he gave a little shake of his head as he continued, "But no, I'm not like that. The fate of the world doesn't rest on my shoulders, just the fate of me and mine. For better or worse, I know and have learned to be content with my limits." Almost as an afterthought, he added with a wan smile, "Your mother still struggles with that whole concept though."

Ellie took a moment to consider his words, and so he capitalized on it by moving on to his next point.

"The 'for better' is that unlike most of your friends' dads, I get to be home more often. My job doesn't require me to work as many long hours, like your mother's does, and I don't have that kind of inner drive anymore. I haven't since the day you were born."

When that last comment did not earn him a smile, even a watery one, but rather that mulish look of hers that was so like her mother's, he hastily added:

"And whether you believe me or not, the day you became a twinkle in your mother's eye, she lost most of that drive too. She would have been here, driving you crazy, talking about how you can make up all the school you have missed, making plans for physical therapy, and giving you unsolicited boy advice."

"But?"

" _But_ ," he replied patiently, as he began counting all his points off on his fingers, "First, because she is who she is, she hates herself more than you hate her."

Holding up a second finger, he continued, "You were hurt because of _her_ and her job."

"Thirdly, the people who hurt you only could hurt you because she and her people failed to catch them."

"And finally, the only way she knows how to deal with the anger towards them for hurting you, for nearly _killing_ you and your brother, and the guilt she feels towards herself for not protecting you is to go after the S.O.B.s. that did this. Once she has neutralized them, she will feel worthy enough of being your mother again."

Ellie stared at him, her blue eyes wide in astonishment, before wrinkling her nose and declaring, "That is _so_ messed up."

"Yep," he declared with what-can-you-do shrug.

He gave her a few moments to absorb all of that, before pleading, "So while you have every right to be angry at her for not being here, maybe you can - possibly - _not_ hate her so much?"

At this, Ellie closed her eyes and hugged herself, doing her very best to give an honest answer and not one that she thought he would like to hear. Finally, she shrugged her good shoulder and whispered, "I suppose so."

With a small sigh of relief, he leaned down and kissed the top of her forehead and whispered just as quietly, "Thanks, sweetheart."

Deciding that he had done all that he could do, he headed for the door, but as soon as he reached it, Ellie's quiet voice called tentatively after him:

"Dad?"

He turned and gave her a worried look, "Yeah?"

"Does she know how good she has it with you?"

Jack was floored by this question. Before middle school, she had been a bit of a daddy's girl, but since then… not so much.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he answered a bit sheepishly, "Most days, and the feeling is pretty mutual," and then with a twinkle in his eye, he asked a question of his own, "But, Ellie?"

Being the smart girl she was, she asked warily, "Yeah?"

"On the days that I am in the doghouse, remind her of that, will you?" he begged with a teasing grin.

And like music to his ears, his Ellie let out a soft laugh before answering with an amused eye-roll, "Sure thing, Dad."

Jack noticed that her smile was not as full as it used to be, but it was a genuine one.

His little girl had lost her innocence, but she would be alright. And when her mother got those bloody bastards and came home and the two of them hashed it out, the two of them would be alright too.

And the cherry on top of all of that was how wrong he had just proved Angie Martinelli.

He could too handle tears. Hah.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thoughts?


	35. Sibling Rivalry

**Scenarios**

* * *

 **A/N:** This prompt is from **shepweir always** who requested that there be a one-shot of ' _Jack being_ _very jealous of his older brother,_ _a successful junior senator_ _(who is much favored by his parents), when he starts making moves on his younger more insecure baby brother's most challenging SSR agent...'_

Enjoy.

* * *

 **Sibling Rivalry**

* * *

Carter patiently waited for her boss to finish his congratulatory call from the congressman, before entering his office and handing him a form that she needed him to sign. Having him in good spirits was shrewdly strategic on her part, but no guarantee of success.

Case in point:

"Carter, what is this?" Jack inquired disbelievingly.

Keeping her face blank and her voice as neutral as possible, she replied, "It's a time-off request form, sir."

"I _know_ that," he snapped irritably. "What I meant was: why are you asking me for it? Didn't you just take an unreasonably long vacation in L.A.?"

"Yes, but that was several months ago, sir, and you see there is this thing called accrued PTO. With all of my overtime that I worked on the Zodiac case, I was able to earn a week's worth. But as you will note on the form, I only asked for Friday and Monday."

Jack scowled at her and eyed her suspiciously, rightly attempting to ascertain if she was being intentionally condescending. (She was, but there was no evidence of it in her overly polite expression).

Finally, he waved his hand in dismissal, while yet growling out, "This long weekend of yours isn't going to be spent anywhere west of the Mississippi River, is it?"

She smiled with a hint of amusement, even as she innocently replied, "Oh no, Chief. Nowhere as far as that. Just to the Potomac, sir."

He eyed her sharply once more, possibly because of her guileless smile yet impish eye-twinkle or because of the reference to the region near the nation's capital, but nevertheless he signed the form anyways, grunting, "Drop this off at H.R. on your way out to relieve Wallace at his stakeout."

Being very careful to hide her feelings of triumph, she meekly took the form and said "Yes, sir", while silently promising to dance a jig in the elevator if it was unoccupied.

Operation: Weekend Wedding and Other Shenanigans was a go.

~A~

 _That weekend…_

Jack leaned against the open bar that the Omni Shoreham Hotel had set up in its glamorous ballroom and tried not to look as bored as he felt. A sophisticated indifference was socially acceptable, but outright disinterest was no way to make influential friends – or so he had been repeatedly told by his family.

This was why his elder brother was an up and coming junior state senator and on the fast track to becoming governor and who knows what else, and he was just going to be a government stooge, a figurehead of an increasingly irrelevant investigation agency unless he shaped up and followed in said brother's example – also something he had been repeatedly told by his family.

He was here at this ostentatious socialite wedding so that he could rub elbows with the rich and powerful of the Washington elite, especially since he no longer had Vernon Masters or any of his well-connected cronies to put in a good word for him. But it was a difficult thing to do when his brother was also working the room. No, he would wait until the man left with whatever arm-candy he had brought with him tonight, but until then, he was not going to be David's kid-brother shadow. He had had enough of that growing up.

He was glancing about the room to see if any of the single bridesmaids were available or tempting enough to be a distraction, when he saw _her._

There she was, the woman of his dreams, all curvy and confident and glorious in a burgundy wine colored gown, with her glossy curls stylishly coiffed, and her smile sultry and as radiant as he had ever seen it.

And there she was, dancing with _him_ – David-fucking-Andrew-fucking-Thompson.

Mr. Fucking Perfect. Of course, she bloody was.

~A~

 _A few months ago…_

If anyone asked, she was running late. There was no way in hell that she was going to let on that the reason she was not proudly standing amongst the S.S.R. ranks was because she was _concerned_ for Jack bloody Thompson.

However, while she may be proud to a fault, she was not going to let her pride get in the way of keeping her chief safe.

The last time the S.S.R. did such a public awards ceremony, Fennhoff and Dottie had happened. This time, she did not think that the enemies Jack had made by hunting Arena Club members were going to stop at a leisurely kidnapping and brainwashing.

She was just completing her second scan of the crowd, when she saw _him_ – a suspicious looking chap in an overly non-descript, perfect for blending in a crowd and the shadows outfit (charcoal grey blazer and trousers, heather grey waistcoat, and grey pinstripe cap pulled low over his face). He was skirting the edges of the crowd but never taking his eyes off of Jack. And there was not a press credential in sight.

It didn't take her long to slip around behind him – a few elbow jabs here and a few Oh-I'm-such-a-ditz-beg-pardon smiles there and _voila!_ she was in position.

With a hand firmly clamped on one shoulder and the other to grab his other arm, she was able to shove him off balance, spin him around, and slam him up against the hood of a nearby parked car. She pushed one of her legs between his to keep him off balance, while twisting his arm up behind him and pinning him there, before getting his other arm equally pinned to his back so that she could cuff him.

Surprisingly, he did not put up any kind of fuss while she frisked him. The only sudden movement he made was to swiftly turn his head away from the nearby crowd of cameras when his cap fell off. He even kept mum right up until the point she was done and had started to ease off some of the pressure she had on him.

Over his shoulder, he politely asked, "Now that you see that I am not a threat, are you going to tell me what I am being charged with?"

"One, I haven't charged you with anything – yet. Two, just because you aren't armed doesn't mean that you are not a threat," she explained, even as she let him stand up straight and slowly turn around. "I myself know how to kill a man a half dozen ways with just a bobby p– Oh."

Her usual air of confidence deflated right out of her on that one breathy gasp, because she most definitely recognized him. Even if his picture hadn't been so frequently in the newspapers, she would have known who he was just as instantaneously.

He had the same tall lanky build, the same strong jaw and aquiline nose. He had brown hair instead of blond, steely grey irises, instead of icy blue. But the same goddamn 'I am so charming' smirk.

"So I see that you know who I am. And if I were to take an educated guess, you must be that indomitable lady agent that my kid brother jaws on so much about and who sends him into such a tizzy."

She was saved from having to make any kind of response to this blatantly exaggerated flattery by the crowd's sudden eruption of laughter. Her gaze flitted from her notable quarry to the crowd and up to the podium. Jack was still standing to the side, and the congressman was still grandstanding away.

Turning back to the junior state senator and releasing him from the cuffs, she asked curiously, "If I may be so bold as to ask - where is your phalanx of security that should be putting me into my place for laying a finger on you?"

"One, if all I have heard about you is true, my security would only be _attempting_ to put you into your place. Two, if they were here, they would know better than to interfere with a lady friend of mine who likes to get rough with me." Here he paused to give her a knowing leer while he rubbed ruefully at his chafed wrists. "And three, I left them guarding my mild-mannered body double so that I could sneak away and watch my brother be awarded an honor he has more than earned without my presence stealing his thunder."

Peggy ignored the compliment and the overt ribald comment and snorted derisively at the last, "You do know that there will be more of a stir in the papers about your presumed absence from the ceremony than there will be about your attending it along with your parents?"

If he had been anyone else, she might have missed it. But because his face was so similar to the one she knew so well, she caught the fleeting look of … sheepishness.

It confused her for a moment, but then when she was able to put it and everything she knew about Jack and his family dynamics together, she spun on her booted heel to glower at him and hiss:

"You meant to get caught, didn't you?"

"What? I don't kn-"

"Pffft! Yes, you do. You purposefully acted suspicious enough to get somebody's attention so that when Jack or your parents or a reporter were to ask you why you weren't at the ceremony, you could honestly say that you were, but were just held up by security."

She didn't know whether to be disgusted by the convoluted machinations or be grateful that he at least understood how it would effect Jack to have his own fears confirmed by his brother - that his very presence would outshine Jack's - and that this Machiavellian would do whatever he could to avoid that.

Dropping the innocent façade, Senator Thompson gloated with a wink, "And even better yet – I was apprehended by one of the S.S.R.'s very own special agents, _and_ I will honestly be able to say that I now know from personal experience that he is leading a group of 'top notch investigators'. Jack was right. You are most impressive, Agent Carter."

She wasn't going to say anything. She was going to bite her tongue and not get into any further trouble than she already was.

But then he leaned down and whisper-shouted in her ear over another round of applause:

"This is the point that you tell me how I impressive I am."

Keeping silent now was no longer an option though, so out of the corner of her mouth, she hissed, "And Jack was right about you too. You are a cunning bugger."

Instead of being offended, the irritating man threw back his head and howled with laughter. Wolfishly flashing her his set of pearly whites, he rejoined with:

"You, Margaret Carter, are just the woman I need."

~A~

 _The wedding shenanigans…_

She knew the moment Jack saw her with David for the first time.

Fortunately for him and all innocent bystanders, the traditional wedding toasts had already been given. Otherwise, the delicate champagne flute would have shattered quite spectacularly under the amount of pressure he was bearing down on his current, more sturdy glass of whiskey.

David, who had placed his hand lightly yet possessively at the small of her back while they danced, must have felt her stiffen, because he spun them just enough so that he could follow her gaze. She was too busy watching his brother's ramrod straight back disappear into the crowd and out to the patio and courtyard below to notice her dancing partner's reaction.

She did, however, feel him spin them back around and pull her in tighter, his hand drifting even lower, which most definitely did return her attention back to him.

When she finally met his cool grey gaze, he gave her a lopsided yet unapologetic smile (yet kindly returned his hand to its previous position), even as he asked almost wistfully, "Do you think what works on the gander, may work on the goose?"

"I don't know, maybe," she answered with a half-hearted shrug. More confidently, she added, "But I think she will appreciate a rescue right about now, even from you."

David looked in the direction she nodded and saw poor Nora Danvers being cornered by the groom's dull and pontificating uncle, the one that was rumored to currently be in the market for wife #3 in order to have a mother for his pack of hellion children.

He gave her a slow impish smile, asking drolly, "Permission to leave you to the saving of my asinine kid brother from himself, while I go rescue the damsel in distress, my dear?"

"Granted," she breathed even as she began to plot out the most expedient route to the exit.

Thankfully, the dance ended right then, and she was able to discreetly take up the chase.

It didn't take her long to find him. If his bright blond hair catching the courtyard light had not made him standout like a beacon, his being the only one who looked at the elegant tiered fountain like he wished it was flowing with the blood of his enemies certainly would have.

Now a person with even half a lick of good sense would have approached him cautiously, but as it can be (and has been) reasonably argued that her sense of self-preservation was mightily underdeveloped, she boldly strode right on up to him, channeled her friend Angie, and began prattling.

"So fancy meeting you here. If I had known you were coming to this shindig too, I would have offered to ride up with you. We could have been train buddies. Then again it might have been awkward at the station when the Jarvises came to pick me up. They still haven't quite forgiven you for that threat you made about deporta- "

Jack broke in, slamming his hand down on stone balustrade and growling out, "Screw the Jarvises, Peggy!"

Unfazed by his outburst, she coolly replied, "Well, I think that was rather the poi– "

Again, he interrupted her, grinding out each word as if it physically pained him. "Why, the bloody hell – are you – here – with – _him_?"

"Because he asked me to."

"Bullshit!"

This time his outburst caught the attention of the party nearby. When she convincingly smiled her reassurance that she was alright, they politely moved away to give the two of them some privacy. But Jack did lower his voice to more respectable levels, as he continued his argument.

"I know for a fact that the Adonis-like medical examiner would and has asked you to functions like this, and if you had wanted to come to this particular one for whatever reason, that J.A.G. lawyer that is always panting after you whenever we are down at the court house would have taken you at the crook of your little finger. I mean, I know David's smart, strong, brave, and true – a man of Steve Roger's caliber like I never will be, but out of all the men who are, why the bloody hell did it have to be _him_?"

The more he talked, the faster her smile fell, so that by the end of the speech, she was scowling at him. Her voice was hard and flat, as she declared scathingly, "For all your vaunted investigative savvy, you know nothing, Jack Thompson."

Before he could make some snide and less than witty retort, she began to enlighten the oaf.

"For your information, that Dr. 'Adonis' is a medical examiner because he loves the sound of his own voice, and it's guaranteed that his patients will never interrupt him. For another, the Lieutenant Commander flirts with me because he thinks he is God's gift to women and I will be so overwhelmed by his attentions that I will give him a sneak peek at evidence in ongoing cases against his defendants."

She let that sink in for a moment before adding irritably, " _And_ it amazes me that you think these are 'equals' of Steve's, but even more so that you think your brother – a career politician – could ever be."

It amused her somewhat that he looked abashed at his flawed character assessments, triumphant that his brother did not make the grade either, and a little outraged on his brother's behalf.

However, her heartbreak over that one small self-deprecating comment hidden within that offensive diatribe far outweighed her amusement at his reactions or her annoyance at his assumptions.

More softly, she explained, "If you must know, your brother asked me to come with him tonight because I 'clean up rather well', am an unknown mysterious entity in these circles at least to the women, that I can hold my own against the catty and conniving, and I know how to convincingly play a role."

He blinked at her slowly, clearly not being able to connect the dots, so she spelled it out for him.

"He wanted to make his ex-fiancé jealous and regret that she ever left him."

Now full-on sheepish, Jack glanced away and muttered, "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'," she gently chided.

She did not add the obvious that while his brother did what he could to share the limelight with him, so that his parents could be equally proud of him, David had found it to be a delightful bonus to steal Jack's 'lady agent' out from under his nose, even if for only an evening. Pointing this out would not really answer his question and would distract from the heart of the real issue.

So instead, she reached up and turned his face back towards hers, whispering softly, "And more importantly, the one man that I did want to come with to something like this will never ask me."

Endearingly yet frustratingly, his reaction was to look askance at her as if to ask 'Who in their right mind…?'

She answered his unspoken question, "My best guess is that he does not think himself 'worthy'. At one time, that _might_ have been the case. He was a wannabe politician himself. But he soon learned that he was a true blue copper at heart, a seeker of justice. And even though, he now tries to walk on the side of the angels, he cannot forgive himself for one act of cowardice, and he seems to foolishly think a brave man is one who is absent of fear."

She took a deep steadying breath herself, because she was terrified at what she was about to reveal, scared of how he would react. But she did not want to live her life with anymore regrets. _'Now or never, Peggy-girl.'_

So she took the plunge.

"And he does not seem to realize that he is among the rare few that I trust to have at my back when the chips are down. And he definitely does not seem to believe that I might want to take a gamble of the heart on him."

Even as she stood there with her hand cupped to his cheek and her gaze earnestly locked with his, he stood there looking at her in utter bewilderment and disbelief, as if he expected her to end this soul-baring speech with the name of some other guy or a hearty laugh and a _'See? I told you I can play a convincing role!'_

Letting out a low growl of frustration, she grabbed him by his dinner jacket lapels, muttering, "Never have I known a man to so constantly need his ego stroked."

And then she spun him into the nearest darkest recess and snogged him into belief.

~A~

The following Tuesday, after having an interesting proposal made to her by Howard Stark over Sunday brunch, Peggy Carter handed Jack her letter of resignation as well as a request that he be her plus-one at Daniel and Violet's wedding that coming spring.

Two years later, David was giving his Big Brother-Best Man speech, taking full credit for bringing the two of them together. At which point, Daniel, one of the other groomsmen, could be heard to mutter, "Peggy, are sure you don't at least _hear_ the family resemblance?"

Peggy's response was to stare into Jack's adoring eyes and murmur, "My husband may be an asinine jackass at times, but he is at least a quick learner."

Not very many of the guests heard this exchange, but everybody saw the bride and groom kiss like they were competing for it to be the most passionate and the most pure of all recorded kisses.

And for perhaps the first time in David Thompson's life, everyone ignored him for the sake of his younger brother, because Jack was the one who clearly got _the_ girl.

* * *

 **A/N:** and that's all for now folks. Do let me know what you think and/or send me new prompts : )


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